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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27431713">The Book Of Isaiah</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Monkeygirl77/pseuds/Monkeygirl77'>Monkeygirl77</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Grumpy (Sometimes) But Kind Raphael [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Supernatural</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Adopted Children, Adopted Sibling Relationship, Ancient Egyptian Deities, Ancient Egyptian Magic - Freeform, And goes by many different names, And no cursing people, Archangel Nephilim, Archangels, Aztec Deities, Aztec Demigod, Big Brother Raphael, But only if its for good, Especially that last one, God goes by many other names, He's the Creator, Healer Raphael (Supernatural), Heaven is completely open minded, I'm lookin at you Isa, Isa practices Heka, Isa thinks he's invincible, Isa worships gods and goddesses of Ancient Egypt, Kemeticism, Leading the Host, Necromancy, Nephilim, No summoning evil spirits and such, Parental Raphael, Polytheistic Religions, Raphael adopts an Aztec Demigod, Raphael is fine if his boys practice magic, Raphael is trying to teach him this, Raphael loves one (1) person unconditionally, References to Aztec Religion &amp; Lore, References to Egyptian Religion &amp; Lore, References to Norse Religion &amp; Lore, Variations on Ancient Egyptian Religion, and has not been successful, he is not, he's exasperated more then anything</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 00:55:21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>75</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>129,744</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27431713</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Monkeygirl77/pseuds/Monkeygirl77</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Isaiah, also known as Isa, the son of the Archangel Raphael, think's he's invincible. His father continuously tries to teach him he is not. He is not succeeding.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Raphael (Supernatural) &amp; OC</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Grumpy (Sometimes) But Kind Raphael [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2128185</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>139</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>21</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He folded his hands as best as he could, bending his head in silent prayer. This was a one time shot and he wasn't going to waste it.</p>
<p>The scents of candles burning filled the air around him, a soft yellow hew covering his body in its warm light.</p>
<p>A golden trinket was in the midst of four separate candles all forming a perfect square.</p>
<p>If he wasn't going to respond to normal prayers, he would have to use drastic measures.</p>
<p>
  <em>"Holy Archangel Raphael, Grant me healing and joy, Open the door to my heart, Give me happiness and health, Grant me your benefits, abundance, wealth, I am opening my arms to receive them, I shall be eternally grateful, Amen."</em>
</p>
<p>He waited patiently, having been told by his favorite uncle that they could not ignore a direct summons (i.e. prayer), all he had to do was wait.</p>
<p>"Isa, what have I told you about-...Have you been <em>shot</em>?"</p>
<p>The nephilim grinned at him, straining to keep the pressure at the seeping wound. His father crossed the room quickly, kneeling by his side and pulling his hand aside.</p>
<p>"Why did you not call for me?"</p>
<p>"I didn't think it was important <em>and </em>you said you had a meeting today!"</p>
<p>A hand smacked up on the back of the head, "Didn't think it was important! You've been <em>shot</em>!"</p>
<p>Isa grinned, "It doesn't even hurt-no I lied, it hurts, it hurts super bad!"</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Cold Winter Mornings</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It’s a cold winter’s morning in the Archangels villa, the fire blazing in the living room, a Christmas tree sparkling in the fire light, and not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse. They’re all still sleeping, Christmas morning, meaning they could sleep in, they had nothing to do that day, no duties to complete, just time to relax, it was their one true day off in the grand length of the year. A blizzard rages outside, the snow thick and heavy on the ground, and the door opens.</p><p>A youth steps inside, shaking snow out of their curls, shivering wildly as they push the thick wooden door shut, the rain of snowflakes falling short at the barrier. Slipping out of their boots, they rub their cold bare feet on the warm carpet underfoot, and tug their thick winter coat off, hanging it on one of the hooks by the door. Rubbing their hands together, they blow on their freezing fingers, and creep away from the door, through the living room, sparing the tree and gifts a glance, passed the kitchen, and down the hall that contained the Archangel’s bedroom.</p><p>Their doors were closed, to keep the heat in, and they stop at the third door, reaching for the door handle, they twist it silently, a wall of heat hits them face first, the fire in the fireplace blazing hungrily, and they step in silently, turning to close the door behind them, and creep softly across the room, careful to keep the floor from squeaking underfoot. Coming to the end of the bed, they squat, lifting the edge of the blanket up, crawling up underneath. The bed’s occupant feels the movement, sighing softly as they turn over onto their back, and the intruder skillfully crawls over moving legs, as they make their way up the length of the bed, poking out at the top, laying over the Archangel’s chest.</p><p>Arms curl around them and they smile, reaching up to press a hand to the Archangel’s chest, and he shivers under their touch. “Isa, your hands are freezing.” The arms uncurl from around him and large hands curl around his hands, pulling them up to blow warm breath on, before pressing them against their chest. “Did you not wear your mittens?”</p><p>“I…Um…I lost them.”</p><p>“That’s the <em>third </em>pair, my son.” The Archangel lets go of his hands to pull the blankets up over his shoulders and curl his arms back around him. “I’m sewing this new pair to the sleeves of your coat.”</p><p>Isa smiles, nodding against his dad’s chest, he feels the man shift, warm lips press over his forehead. “Merry Christmas, dad.”</p><p>“Merry Christmas, my little one.”</p><p>The Nephilim licks his lips lightly. “This is my favorite holiday.”</p><p>“Oh?” His dad sounds tired, but he knows he’d never fall asleep on him, he just knows. “Why is that?”</p><p>“Because, it’s the one holiday where I don’t have to share you with anyone else.”</p><p>Raphael smiles lightly, squeezing the boy gently, pressing his lips to his forehead once more. “It’s my favorite, too.”</p><p>“I got you something really cool.”</p><p>“You did,” Isa feels his dad chuckle lightly. “What is it?”</p><p>“You’ll just have to wait until it’s time to open gifts.”</p><p>He smiles again. “I don’t know if I can wait that long.”</p><p>Isa giggles softly, rubbing his cheek over his dad’s chest again, a hand travels up from his lower back, fingers rub through the curls on the side of his head. “Patience is a virtue, dad.”</p><p>“As the one who chose all of the Virtues, I can say, without any doubt, patience is not a Virtue.”</p><p>He giggles again and he knows his dad is smiling above his head. “Sorry that I lost my mittens.”</p><p>“It’s alright, my child,” the Healer’s voice rumbles in his ear. “I was sure you would.” He scratches one last time at the back of the boy’s head and curls his arm back around his lower back. “Sleep with me?”</p><p>“Yea, daddy,” the Nephilim closes his eyes lightly. “I’ll sleep with you.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Holding One's Breath</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He looks down, as water pools up around his chest, closing his eyes and mouth as the tide rolls in again, a wave splashing up over his face, he’s been here long enough that the chill has turned to warmth, or, perhaps, numbness, it was midfall after all, the water wasn’t warm enough for swimming, or, doing what it was he was doing.</p><p>“Isa,” he opens his eyes at the voice, smiling up at them, he would wave, but his arms are held down by the chains wrapped around his waist. His dad sounds so exasperated, he always sounds like that, it’s just normal for him at this point, pinching the bridge of his nose. “What are you doing?”</p><p>“Hey, dad!”</p><p>“Hello, my son,” Raphael lowers his hand and stares down at him, standing above the water, one of the perks of being an angel, he didn’t have to allow himself to get wet. “Would you mind explaining something to me?”</p><p>“Yea, sure, dad.” He tilts his head, the ends of his curls soaking in the water. “What can I do for you?”</p><p>“Isa, my child, my beloved, <em>idiotic </em>child, can you explain to me why you are chained to the lead pole of the pier?”</p><p>“Oh, that’s easy!” Isa throws his head back, making a face when it smacks against the pole behind him, and shakes his head gently to clear away the ache forming in his head. “So, Austin said I couldn’t hold my breath underwater for over a minute, and I told him I could, he said he didn’t believe me.”</p><p>“So, you chained yourself to the post to ensure you would stay under water?”</p><p>“Well, duh, these are high stakes, dad.” Isa doesn’t seem to see what’s wrong with this whole thing. “Bragging rights. Austin held his breath for a whole seven minutes! I have to beat that!”</p><p>His eyes widen slightly. “Your cousin did the same?”</p><p>“Um, yea, he’s sitting up on the pier with the timer.”</p><p>Raphael rubs a hand over his face, he’s getting too old for this, and squats, reaching into the water for the chains wrapped around his son’s waist, tearing them free with ease, he snags him by the scruff of his hoodie, lifting him out of the water with ease, he dangles like a soaked puppy, in his grasp. The Nephilim blinks, and they’re standing on the pier, Austin’s looking up at them with wide eyes, the Healer sighs deeply, snatching a thick blanket out of the air, he squats and curls it securely around his nephew’s shoulders, squeezing his upper arms firmly. “Your father will be down to collect you.”</p><p>“Do you have to tell him?”</p><p>He looks down at the young Nephilim, nodding his head firmly. “Yes, Austin, I do. You’re undoubtedly going to catch a hefty chill from your <em>stupidity</em> and your father will want to care for you while you’re unwell, and you will take whatever medicines I give you without complaint, you hear?”</p><p>The boy nods, curling his fingers in the ends of the blanket, curling it around himself tightly “Yessir. Sorry for being so much trouble.” He squeezes the boy’s arms lightly. “You still love me, right, Uncle Raph?”</p><p>“Undoubtedly, little one, undoubtedly.”  He presses a kiss to the side of his head firmly and squeezes his arms once more. “Your father will be down in a moment.”</p><p>The Archangel stands, turning back to his shivering child, and shakes his head, holding a hand out to him. His fingers are like little cubes of ice as they curl around his, and he tugs him forward, Isa stumbles slightly as he’s tugged into his dad’s side and smiles up at him cautiously. “Sorry, daddy.”</p><p>“Oh, you’re going to be.”</p><p>…</p><p>He blinks as they appear in the Infirmary, next to a bed covered in thick blankets, thick flannel pajamas on the edge of the bed, thick fluffy towels on the chair next to it, and Akriel, pouring buckets of steaming water into a large tub, between the two beds, humming to himself as he did.</p><p>His dad tugs on his hand lightly and he turns to look up at him. “Strip out of those wet clothes and get into the tub, Ak will stay with you.”</p><p>“Strip completely?”</p><p>“Down to the flesh.”</p><p>Isa blushes deeply, looking around, his eyes straying to the Virtue watching them. “But, dad, in front of Ak?”</p><p>“Don’t be so shy, Ak bathed you a number of times when you were little, he’s seen everything there is to see.”</p><p>“I’ll turn around, if it makes you feel better.” He nods, and the Virtue smiles at him, turning around slightly. Raphael pats the boy on the head, and he looks up at him, the Archangel pokes him on the nose. “Now, strip.”</p><p>“Yes, dad.” He strips slowly, his hands shake slightly, he’s <em>freezing</em>, and hands his soaked clothes to his dad once he’s completely stark in the nude. The Healer nods, gesturing to the tub, and the Nephilim nods, stepping forward, leaning over to grip the edges of the tub as he steps in, sighing softly when he sinks into the water, Akriel was kind enough to add bubbles so he’s covered, his dad ruffles his curls lightly. “Alright, Ak, you can turn around.”</p><p>The mental specialist nods lightly, spinning around slowly, rubbing at his chin lightly, walking around the tub he’s sitting in, he moves the towels onto the side of the bed, and claims the chair as his own, scooting up to his side.</p><p>Raphael smiles at the pair of them, ruffles his sons curls one last time, and takes his leave, he’s got things to do, things to gather for his wily son, and patients to check in on</p><p>Akriel smiles down at his nephew, rubbing his curls lightly, Isa turns to look up at him and smiles. “Did you really chain yourself to a pier?”</p><p>“I did, brother Ak, I had to beat seven minutes, but dad caught me before I could.”</p><p>“Isa, that’s dumb, even for you.”</p><p>“I know,” the Nephilim looks down, collecting bubbles in his hands, and blows on them gently. “But Austin challenged me, and I couldn’t just say no, I’d be a coward.”</p><p>“Better to be a coward then an idiot.” Akriel scratches at his head lightly, and he turns to look back up at him, the angel smiles down at him. “No matter though, we’ll take good care of you, I’ve been given charge over your treatment.”</p><p>“You’ll go easy on me, right?”</p><p>“If by easy, you mean, no shots in the rear end, then yes, I’ll go easy on you.” He scratches at his head lightly. “I can’t say for your dad, though.”</p><p>Isa smiles up at him. “You’re my favorite brother, brother Ak.”</p><p>He smiles down at the Nephilim. “You’re my favorite brother, too, brother Isa.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. How To Save A Life</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He tried to make his timing just right, he didn’t want to be too late and lose him, he was the only parent he had left, his mom was long since gone, he only had his father left, he couldn’t lose his only surviving parent, especially to the hands of Castiel, god, he really didn’t like him.</p><p>Just as the seraph raises his hand to snap his fingers, he jumps, barreling into the seraph from behind. There’s shouts of surprise, but he ignores them all, struggling with the angel as they roll around, both fighting to maintain the upper hand. But he’s got it, he’s got this, he won’t lose this fight, he can’t lose this fight. He’s got the blood of an archangel, the <em>grace </em>of an <em>archangel </em>coursing through his veins. He reels his fist back, gathering all the archangel strength he can manage, and throws it forward, punching the seraph in the face hard enough that it throws his head back, smashing against the floor under him, his nose shifts, both cheek bones crack, and the seraph falls limp under him.</p><p>“Isaiah—”</p><p>“Dad!” He pushes himself forward, ignoring the ache in his knuckles, the blood dripping down his fingers, and stumbles as he pushes himself to his feet, throwing himself at the archangel. “Dad, are you okay!”</p><p>“Isa, my son, I’m alright.” The archangel squeezes him close for a moment. “How is your hand?” And pulls him back slightly, reaching back for his hand, Isa shakes his head, curling his fingers in the back of his father’s suit jacket, and presses in closer, he had come so close to losing his father, if he hadn’t been fast enough, he’d be parentless. “I’m alright, my child, it’s alright.”</p><p>“I did it, I did it, dad!”</p><p>“Did what, my son?”</p><p>Isa pulls away from his father, looking up at him with wide teary eyes. “Dad you <em>did </em>die! He <em>did </em>kill you! I had to save you! I didn’t want to be all alone! You’re all I have left!”</p><p>“Isaiah,” his tone becomes firmer. “Isaiah, did you mess with Time?”</p><p>“I <em>had </em>to, dad! I <em>had </em>to! You were going to <em>die</em>!”</p><p>“Oh, my young son, you know I’d never really leave you.” He pets a hand down the back of the Nephilim’s head. “Part of me will always live within you.” The youth nods, pressing his ear against his chest, to hear his heart beat thump steadily under him. “Come, Isa, come.”</p><p>Raphael rubs at his back soothingly, curling him around into his side, and guides him forward as he leads himself to stand at the unconscious seraph, a large deep bruise is slowly crawling over his face. Heaving a sigh, he holds his free hand out, snapping his fingers, he opens his fingers, his hand laying flat midair, and a dark ooze starts to flow from the younger angel’s mouth, gathering under his hand.</p><p>“What the hell is that!”</p><p>Ah, Dean Winchester, so unrefined.</p><p>He tilts his head slightly, pulling his son closer. “The Leviathan.”</p><p>“That’s gross.”</p><p>The archangel smiles down at his son, squeezing him gently. “Yes, yes, it is.” He picks a large urn out of the air, and guides the substance inside, placing the lid on, he sets it to rest on the table. “Give it to Death. He can return them to Purgatory.”</p><p>“Where are you goin’?”</p><p>He glares at the hunter for a moment, then looks down to his son, Isa looks up at him, and he smiles down at him. “I need to tend to my son.” He guides them around, he hears Dean Winchester say something, but they’re gone by the time the words register.</p><p>…</p><p>Isa looks around as they appear in their home, a home away from home, a large penthouse in L.A. He’s guided over to the island between the kitchen and the dining room, settled up on one of the stools. His dad walks around behind the counter and leans over, reaching under the sink for the first aid kit, and sets it on the counter, closing the cupboard door as he opens the top of the first aid kit.</p><p>“Place your hand up on the counter, child.” The Nephilim nods, placing his hand on the counter, his dad looks up at it for a moment and sighs, leaning forward against the counter, and gives him a <em>look</em>. “Your <em>other </em>hand, child.”</p><p>He grimaces, whining lightly, and switches out his hands, placing his busted hand on the counter instead.</p><p>“Good boy.” He watches his dad pour a bit of liquid from a bottle with a red lid onto a cotton swab, and leans forward, reaching out for his hand. “This is going to sting a bit.” Isa nods, biting his lip, squeaking softly when he dabs at his busted knuckles. “You truly outdid yourself, Isa.”</p><p>“Ow, dad!”</p><p>“I’m almost finished, take a deep breath.” He does as he’s told. “Now, let it out.” He exhales softly.</p><p>He watches his dad set the cotton swab down and reach into the kit for a strip of gauze, curling it around his knuckles, and wraps a length of bandages around his hand, pasting it in place. “Done?”</p><p>“I’m done.” Raphael nods to the couch. “Go sit on the couch.” He watches the boy scurry away as he cleans up his mess, puts the first aid kit back, and pulls his suit jacket off, tossing it to rest on the counter. Rolling his sleeves up, he crosses around the island, making his way across the room to join his son on the couch.</p><p>Isa looks up at him, sliding up under his arm when he raises it, and settles against his side, curling up. His dad kicks his dress shoes off and lifts his feet up to rest on the coffee table, crossing his ankles, the Nephilim lays himself down, resting his head in his dad’s lap, humming softly when he feels fingers scratch through his curls. “Do you have to go, dad?”</p><p>“No, Isa,” he scratches at his sons head lightly, rubbing at his face with his other hand, and leans back against the back of the couch. “I can stay.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. When You're Gone</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Oren sighs as he closes the door behind him, resting back against the wood, the boy was depressed, and rightfully so, all he did was sleep. Clothed in one of his father’s tunics, curled up in his blankets, in the middle of his bed. They carried him to the washroom every other day, because he wouldn’t take himself down, he’d rather stay in his bed, curled in his blankets, surrounded by things that reminded him of his father.</p><p>He curses Castiel, for taking him, for the loss of his life, for separating father and son, the boy was nothing without his father, they revolved around each other, they were both a staple in each other’s lives, never far apart, and now the boy was without his father, his mother having passed long ago, he was completely alone.</p><p>Scrubbing a hand down his face, he sighs deeply, and pushes away from the door, making his way down the hall slowly. Ephraim and Akriel look up as he approaches, they’d helped him carry the boy down the hall to bathe, tear tracks made the youngers cheeks glisten, he felt everything the boy felt, just as potent as the boy did.</p><p>“He’s asleep.”</p><p>“He’s so <em>broken</em>.” Ephraim chokes, Akriel rubs his back soothingly, and Oren nods, he knows this, the boy’s heart and soul have been broken. He has them, but it wasn’t the same, they weren’t his father. “He’s in so much <em>pain</em>.”</p><p>“I can only wonder what will happen once this sadness turns to anger.”</p><p>“<em>If </em>it turns to anger.” The mental specialist scratches at his beard lightly. “He’s not phasing through his grief, through the stages, he’s gotten stuck.”</p><p>“Can you really blame him though?” Oren looks over his shoulder, down the hall, as though expecting the boy to come waltzing out, back to normal, his usual charm returned. “It’s almost as though him and Raph were made for each other, two halves of the same whole, he’s missing a part of himself.”</p><p>…</p><p>“Isa, it’s time to eat.”</p><p>The bed dips as he sits on the edge, holding the bowl in one hand, he turns to pet the boy’s curls with the other. The Nephilim shakes his head, pulling the archangel’s cloak over his face, covering his head with it. “Not hungry.”</p><p>Oren sighs deeply, nodding as he turns to look down at his feet, this happened often, the boy just didn’t want to do anything, part of him wondered if he was trying to waste away willingly, anything to be reunited with his father again. “I know you’re not, but, please, please eat, if you won’t do it for yourself, do it for your father, he loved you too much for you to simply waste away.”</p><p>He felt bad for using his father against him, but Raphael would be turning in his grave if they allowed his only beloved son to waste away, so they had to play just a bit dirty.</p><p>Isa nods lightly, coming out from under the archangel’s cloak, sitting up slightly, he opens his mouth, and Oren takes that as his invitation to feed him a spoonful of soup. He finishes the bowl and lays back down, pulling the cloak back over his head, breathing in deeply, taking in the scent of peppermint and ozone, the scent of his father, and his shoulders start to quake gently.</p><p>The Virtue sighs softly, leaning over to set the bowl on the bedside table, and turns in the bed, resting back against the pillow. “Come here, little one.” The Nephilim scoots closer, and he pulls him around, turning him into his chest, burying his fingers in his curls as his tears soak into the front of his shirt. “I’m so sorry, Isa,” what else is there to say. “I’m so sorry.”</p><p>…</p><p>None of them were sure what to thing when they came to check on him, and he was gone, it sent them in a panic, not knowing where he’d gone, the last thing their Archangel had entrusted to them, and it had disappeared.</p><p>Isa knew what he was doing, his sadness had finally phased into anger, and he was out for blood.</p><p>An eye for an eye. A life for a life.</p><p>He fled to Earth as soon as they left him for the night, fingering the pendant he shared with his dad, and went in search for his revenge. Castiel took the one he loved most, so it was only right he got to take his turn, and he’d take the one <em>he</em> loved the most.</p><p>He attacks in a blaze of glory, electricity arcing off of him, he illuminates the room as he appears, reaching for the human. Dean Winchester puts up a fight, Sam Winchester shouts and pulls his gun, and Castiel’s angel blade slips into his hand.</p><p>The Nephilim stops them all short, pressing a finger over the older hunter’s heart, the fingers of his other hand curled tightly in his hair, his appearance was deceiving when it came to his strength, holding his head back. “One move, <em>one</em>, and I stop his heart.”</p><p>“Isaiah, think about what you’re doing.”</p><p>He glares at the seraph. “Think about what <em>I’m </em>doing, <em>you </em>killed my dad, you <em>killed </em>him, he was <em>all </em>I had left, and you <em>took </em>him.” He presses his finger in deeper. “You took someone I loved, now, I’m going to take someone <em>you </em>love.”</p><p>“Hey, hey, hey,” Sam lowers his gun, they’re definitely not maintaining the upper hand in this situation, the Nephilim was the most powerful person in the room, he could stop Dean’s heart, with very little effort. “Your dad, he was a healer, what would he say about his only son taking someone else’s life?”</p><p>“My dad was <em>the </em>Healer!” Isa shakes his head frantically, sucking in a deep breath. “I don’t know what he’d say, he’s <em>dead</em>, by <em>Castiel’s </em>hand! You talk a big game about repentance and the greater good and all that bullshit, but you <em>kill </em>anyone who doesn’t fit into the picture you’ve built up! You <em>killed </em>him! He was <em>all</em> I had left! I’m all <em>alone</em> now! Thanks to <em>him!</em>” He glows, charging up, currants of electricity flowing around him, his curls shift, their hair stands on end as static fills the room. “I don’t <em>care</em> what he’d say! Eye for an eye, <em>life </em>for a <em>life</em>! He <em>deserves </em>to suffer, to suffer the loss of someone he loves, just as he’s made so <em>many </em>others suffer!”</p><p>“He most certainly would <em>not </em>approve of his son killing someone, I can tell you that.” They all stiffen at the voice, Sam looks beyond the Nephilim and his brother, meeting the emerald gaze behind them, his breath catching at the sight, he’d been there when he’d died, he’d <em>seen </em>it happen. “Isaiah, let him go.” The Nephilim stiffens, his eyes watering, unshed tears making them glisten in the light of the room. He shakes his head, pressing his palm to the hunter’s chest, right over his heart, he’d do it, he’d make them pay.</p><p>“Let him go, Isaiah, I raised you better than this, petty revenge is unbecoming.” A hand curls around the fingers curled in the hunter’s hair, unclenching them and pulling his hand back, unphased by the raw energy flowing around his body, and a dark hand enters his vision, curling around before them, long fingers curling around the hand pressed to the hunter’s chest. “Come here, my little one.” Dean stumbles forward, away from the distraught Nephilim, his eyes wide as he spins around, watching the Archangel turn the boy around and pull him in close.</p><p>Isa looks up at the voice, his vision hazy from the tears filling his eyes, all he can see is familiar emerald green, emerald green that means home, that means exasperation but endless love. “Dad?” He squeaks out, his voice cracking, tears overcoming him. “Daaad?” A sob tears from his chest, and he jumps forward, crashing into the body before him, it knocks them back a step, and arms curl around him, a hand curls around the back of his head. “Daaad!” He sobs into his chest, sagging against him, wrapping around him as tightly as he can, fingers clutching to the back of his suit jacket, holding as though if he were to let go, the Archangel would disappear.</p><p>“Hush, my son, I’ve got you.” Fingers scratch at the back of his head. “It’s alright.”</p><p>“Raphael.”</p><p>He looks up, away from his distraught son, and glares at the seraph, he had not forgotten their last encounter. “<em>Castiel</em>.” He absorbs his sons charge until it fades and returns to normal, his charge fading out, the glowing dimming and simmering out. “I will not forget this, Castiel. You are lucky Father is so fond of you, though I can’t begin to fathom why, perhaps you’re entertaining. Never the less,” he shrugs, waving the thought away with his right hand, before burying his fingers back in his son’s curls, scratching at his head soothingly. “Leading the Host, taking command of Heaven, it is mine by birth right, as the third born Prince. I bar you from Heaven, you are not welcome, should I see you step foot within, I will have you imprisoned for treason against the host, for homicide and fratricide, treason against the Host.” His eyes flash for a breath, solidifying the decree, making it known to be fact, and Castiel nods mutely. “Good.”</p><p>The Archangel turns his attention down to his son then, clearly he was needed more by him then anyone else in the room, he’d have to see to the Host, but he’d see to his child first, Isa always came first and foremost, his most treasured treasure. “Come, my son, let’s return home.”</p><p>…</p><p>He sent a message to his Virtues, whom he knew would be searching for the boy, to alert them of his return and the Nephilim’s whereabouts, he felt the acknowledgement through their bond and the elation of his return to them. He requested to be undisturbed, and they acknowledged with affirmation to his request.</p><p>His suit and dress shirt had faded into their usual attire, a pair of long black trousers, white tunic, and a long emerald vest, the pendant he shares with his son hanging on a chain around his neck, his boots clump softly against the stone floor as he guides the boy across the room, sitting him on the edge of his bed. “Sit, sit, it’s alright, my little one.” He squats, untying the boys high tops, emerald green in color, and pulls them off his feet, setting them to the side, he stands, guiding him around into the bed, laying him back against the pillows.</p><p>“Daddy..” He catches his hands when he reaches out for him, pressing his lips to both palms, sitting on the edge of the bed lightly, it dips under him. “It’s alright, my son, I’m not going anywhere, let me take me own shoes off, and we will lay together.”</p><p>Isa nods, curling his fingers around the back of his vest, but allowing him to turn back around, leaning over to pull his boots off, setting them aside next to his sons sneakers, he shrugs his vest off and leans forward, tossing it over onto his desk, and he turns, sliding in next to him in the bed, resting on his side, he opens his arms, tugging the boy closer, tucking him into his chest. The Nephilim curls around him, reaching up to curl his fingers in the front of his shirt, pressing his face into his chest, his tears soaking his front.</p><p>“Sshhh, it’s alright, you’re alright, I’ve got you.” He rubs at his back with his right hand and scratches at the back of his head with his left, pressing his lips firmly to his temple. “Hush, my little one, dry your tears, it’s alright.”</p><p>“Daddy….Daddy, I thought I’d never see you again….” Isa sobs into his chest, and Raphael hums, a deep soothingly melody, the same he hums when he’s got a particular distressed patient he’s tending to, and it slowly works it’s magic, calming the boy’s cries, until all that’s left is soft sniffles, a bit of wheezing from a stuffy nose.</p><p>“There we are, it’s alright.”</p><p>“Never leave again, daddy.”</p><p>“I will most certainly not go willingly.” He scratches lightly through his curls, at the back of his head, and rests his chin over the curls on the top of his son’s head. “I would never leave your side willingly.” He rubs at his back soothingly. “Go to sleep, little one, I’ll be here when you wake.”</p><p>“Promise?”</p><p>“I swear.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Deliver Us</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>If anyone is wondering, Isa was born in Ancient Egypt, since I can't find what language they spoke back then, his native language is Arabic.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>The sweat stings his eyes, and he swipes the back of his hand over his forehead, the sun beats down on his back, his legs burn as he stomps in the mud. The wind that blows around them is a cool reprieve through their strenuous labor. His back stings, the sand whirling in the open slices in his skin, from the whips the foremen carry. He wants his umi, he wants her embrace, her lips pressed to his skin, her braids brushing over his shoulders, he wants her to hold him.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Bsre!”(Faster) He screams as the whip lashes down on his back, slipping in the mud, and falls forward, thick mud coats his arms and chest, the whip comes down again and again, and he screams. “Ealaa qadamik!” (On your feet)</em>
</p><p>
  <em>He tries to push himself back up, his arms shaking, and he slips, falling face first in the thick mud under him, he screams, mud drips into his mouth, as the whip continues to rain down on his back, and he struggles, shaking as he tries to push himself to his feet, he thinks of his umi, her face, her eyes, her smile, he imagines himself in her arms, as tears mix with the mud on his face, he feels blood dripping down his back, he thinks of her, imagining himself at her side, hearing her voice, urging him to get up, praising him and pronouncing her love. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Fingers curl under his arms and hoist him up, and he looks up, into the eyes of an elder, the old man smiles down at him. “Ealaa qudmik, alsaghir.” (On your feet, little one.)</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The foreman yells at them. “Aleawdat ‘iila aleamal!” (Back to work)</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The elder smiles at him, returning to his place, and he struggles, his chest heaving as he tries to swallow his cries, it only makes them mad when you cry, as he begins his stomping once more, biting back a scream when more sand is poured over him, the grit digs into the open wounds carved into his back, he wants his umi, he wants his baba. He wants them to hold him. To make the pain go away. He flinches at the sound of the whip, striking another’s back, and picks up his pace. “Salamana ya jibiya.” (Deliver us, Grandfather)</em>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>“Isa, little brother, wake up, you’re dreaming.”</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>He wakes with a start, throwing himself forward, reaching back behind him, fingers scrabbling for the back of his shirt, he can feel it, the sting, the blood dripping down his back, the heavy mud, the gritty sand, he can feel it all.</p><p>“Isa?” The Nephilim flinches harshly, eyes looking up to see who called his name, Akriel and Oren look down at him in concern. “What’s wrong?”</p><p>He tugs at his shirt, scrabbling with his fingers, his chest heaving. <em>It hurts</em>. “Yulimuni yulimuni zahri yulimni!” (It hurts, it hurts, my back, it hurts)</p><p>Oren frowns deeper, and they exchange a glance, it’s rare for the boy to speak in his native language, extremely rare. “What hurts, Isa?”</p><p>“Alrumush tuadhiy alraml!” (The lashes, the lashes, they hurt, the sand, it hurts)</p><p>“Oren, go get Raph.” His Captain nods, and Akriel steps around the side of the boy’s bed, reaching for his hands carefully, pulling them away. “Sa’aklae qamisik.” (I’m going to take off your shirt)</p><p>Isa nods, shaking as he raises his arms, letting him pull his shirt up over his shoulders, and he watches as he tosses it aside. Akriel looks around for his Captain and Archangel, this is something the boy’s father needs to deal with, there was no telling when he’d stop letting him touch him, he was playing with borrowed time. He spots them, coming down the hall, Raphael had been in his office, and he waves them over.</p><p>Raphael looks down at his son in concern as he draws nearer. “Where’s his shirt, it’s getting much too cold for him to go without one.”</p><p>Akriel shakes his head, gesturing to the item on the table next to the bed. “He says his back hurts, the lashes and sand, he was scrabbling to pull it off.”</p><p>The Archangel frowns, and squats slightly, to meet his sons eyes. “Isa?”</p><p>Electric blue eyes flit up to meet his, wide and alert, pained. “Abi, hdha mulim, aijealah yatawaqaf, min fadlik eijaelah yatawaqaf!” (Dad it hurts, it hurts, make it stop, please, make it stop.)</p><p>The Healer frowns at the use of the old language. “Abnay ma hu akhar shay’ tatadhakaruh?” (My son, what’s the last thing you remember)</p><p>“Al’ahramat kunt ‘ukhlit alraml fi altiyn lil’ahramat wakan rayiyas aleummal yajlduni wainzalaqat! (the pyramids! I was mixing sand into clay for the pyramids and the foreman, he was lashing me, and I slipped)</p><p>“The pyramids?” Akriel and Oren exchange looks once more, they didn’t know much about the years of the nephilims life before their Archangel had brought him home with him. “What does that have to do with anything?”</p><p>Raphael spares them a glance. “He was born into slavery. His people built the pyramids.” And turns his attention back to the Nephilim. “Sa’ajealuh ‘afdal, aistulqi ealaa bitanik, aqlb, sa’ajealuh ‘afdal marat ‘ukhraa.” (I will make it better, lay down on your belly, turn over, I will make it better again.)</p><p>“Waead?” (Promise)</p><p>He nods. “ ‘Aedak ya tifli.” (I promise, my child)</p><p>Isa nods silently, turning over to lay on his belly, crossing his arms under his head. Raphael stands, stepping around his Captain, for the cart next to the bed, both Virtues stare at the raised scars on the youths back. He pays them no mind though, pouring a few drops of lavender oil in the bowl resting on top of the cart, soaking a few hand rags, he wrings them out, and drapes them over his son’s back, the Nephilim inhales deeply, and he buries his fingers in his mass of curls, scratching at his head lightly.</p><p>“Aihda ya bunay, ‘ant bikhayr, kun hadi.” (calm, my son, you’re alright, be calm)</p><p>The Healer’s son bites his lip, and lowers back to rest on his arms again, reaching up to rub a tear away with his fingers. “Abi, aishtaqat li’umi.” (dad, I miss mom)</p><p>The Archangel sighs softly, letting the rags cool the phantom burn in his sons back, and scratches his head tenderly. “’ana ‘aydaan ‘aftuqid walidatik ya waladay min kuli qalbi.” (I miss your mother too, my son, with all my heart). He pulls the rags away, and leans over, withdrawing his fingers from the boy’s curls, and presses his hands to his back, digging his palm in, kneading the scared skin softly.</p><p>Isa licks his lips. “Hal satukhbaruni ean ‘amiyin?” (will you tell me about mom)</p><p>Raphael smiles softly, massaging his sons back gently, his mind wandering to the boy’s mother. “Kanat jamilat, jawharat fi alsohra’, basharatuha naaeimat kalharir, dakinat kallayl, earnaha, raghm dhlk, kanat al’akthar rueatan, kanataan tata’aliqan, kama tafeal alnujum, eaynak min walidatik.” (she was beautiful, a jewel in the desert, her skin was as soft as silk, as dark as night, her eyes, though, were the most stunning, they shined, as stars do, you get your eyes from your mother)</p><p>“Zanant ‘anani hasalt ealaa eayni mink?” (I thought I got my eyes from you)</p><p>The archangel shakes his head lightly, covering the boys back in damp rags once more, pulling a chair up to sit at his side, they didn’t talk about his mother, his lover, much, it wasn’t something that was easy for them, but Isa would ask, he hadn’t known his mother for very long, a short six years, before they had been separated, her to work in Pharaoh’s palace, and his son in the construction of the monuments and pyramids, and he was happy to tell him all he knew. “La, eaynay khudaraa’, kanat zurqa’, ‘almae ‘azraq ra’ayatah fi hayati, tqrybana mithl daw’ alkristal. (no, my eyes are green, hers were blue, the brightest blue I’d ever seen, nearly as light as a crystal)</p><p>“Kayf kanat ‘umiy?” (What was mom like)</p><p>“Kanat mthlk tamamana, mghamrana, faduliat bishan kula shay’ hunak, bula khawf, laqad qadat sanawat ealaa hayati, thuma eindama wulidat,” (she was exactly like you, adventurous, curious about everything, fearless, she took years off my life, and then you were born) He looks over when he sees the movement, Oren and Akriel pulling up chairs to sit in, they’d heard very little of their Archangels lover, his mate, they were captivated and wanted to listen, that was fine, he didn’t mind. “Kanat khayifat, li, awal marat eurafatuha, kama taraa, ‘amr alfireawn fi dhalik alwaqt biqatl jmye almawalid aljudud, watalabat miniya ‘an ‘adieak fi nawm hadi, gyhr mulim, lkn ana rafadat. Im ‘astatie qutil tiflay alwahid. Kunt tfltan hadiatan wnadrana ma tasdur swtana, ‘akhafnak eindama ‘atawa ‘iilaa maskan walidatik.” (She was afraid, the first time I’d ever seen her afraid, she asked me to put you to sleep, peaceful, painless, you see, the Pharaoh at the time, ordered that all newborns be killed, but I refused, I couldn’t kill my only child, you were a quiet babe, barely made a sound, we hid you when they came to her dwelling) He pulls the rags away once more, and massages a mixture of chamomile and mint oils over the raised skin. “Laqad ‘ ahabtuk, min kuli qalbiha, kunt ealamaha, laqad ahabatuk ‘akthar min al-Hayat nafsuha. Kunt sataqif ealaa qidmiha wahi tadur watarqus fi jmye ‘anha’ algharfati. Kanat satafeal ‘aya shay’ litajealak tabtasum.” (she loved you, with all her heart, you were her world, she loved you more then life itself. You’d stand on her feet as she twirled and danced around the room. She’d do anything to make you smile.)</p><p>Isa turns his head around, to meet his eyes, and he smiles down at the nephilim gently. “Kayf matat ‘umiy?” (How did mom die)</p><p>Raphael sighs sadly, nodding his head gently, and sits back in his chair. “Tama aedamha. Famsakthima zawjat fireawn fi farashihma. Laqad tam ‘iiedam walidatik.” (she was executed. Pharaoh’s wife caught them in bed. She had your mother executed.)</p><p>The Nephilim curls his fingers in a tight fist. “Madha hadith lizawjat fireawn?” (what happened to pharaoh’s wife)</p><p>The Archangel looks down at his fingers for a moment, at the band on his ring finger, and rubs his finger over it, before looking back up to meet his sons eyes. “Matat baed waladatiha al’uwalaa. ‘arsalna al’awbiat ‘iilaa misr baed waqt qasir min wafat ‘umahatik. Laqad saeit lilaintiqam min wafat walidatik wasieat ‘iilaa eamik maykil lilhusul ealaa ‘iidhnih.” (she died, after her first born. We sent the plagues upon Egypt shortly after you mother’s death. I sought vengeance for you mother’s death, and sought out your uncle Michael, to gain his permission.)</p><p>“Qumt btslymna?” (you delivered us)</p><p>He shakes his head. “Im ‘afeal ‘iilaa ma kan yjbu faealah qadl dhlk biwaqat tawilan. La yaeni allah ‘an yamtalik alnaas anasana ya eisaa.” (I only did what should have been done long before. God does not mean people to own people, Isa.)</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Can You Hear Freedom Calling?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The only reason it goes noticed that the doors are opening is because of the blizzard outside, raging around them, and the opening of the doors sweeps cold air in, some of them stare, when it appears the door opened on it’s own accord, and jump when a body falls through. Chains rattle and clank against the stone floor, as they struggle back to their feet, only to fall forward again, they try to rise once more, and fall forward. There hands chained together, ankles chained together, the manacles around their wrists linked to a metal collar around their neck. A worn bloody shirt, faded and holey brown pants, and barefoot.</p>
<p>This time they don’t get up, they just lay there, on the stone floor, curled up as best as they can be.</p>
<p>“Close the damn door, it’s freezing.” Oren spares them all a look, clearly asking them why none of them stepped forward to do so, and frowns when their attention turns from him to something else, coming through the last of the bed, he follows their gazes, his eyes widening. <em>“Isa!” </em>And he runs forward, putting a pace in his step, pushing the door closed as he knelt at the Nephilim’s side. “What <em>happened </em>to you, where’d you go?” It had been some time, a long, long while, since they had all seen the Healer’s son, he’d just disappeared one day, they hadn’t thought anything of it, it wasn’t uncommon for him to disappear.</p>
<p>The boy barely whimpers, curling tighter, his fingers curling around the iron manacles around his wrists. He eyes him over, frowning at the lash marks he can see under the slices in the back of his shirt, there’s a distinct smell of burnt flesh.</p>
<p>“Ori, what’s going on?” Constantine stops dead in his tracks, his eyes going wide, a hand coming up to cover his mouth. “Is that—Is that—”</p>
<p>“Costa, go get Raph, go get him,” when the younger Virtue doesn’t move, he snaps. <em>“Go.” </em>Constantine nods, turning on his heel, darting off to retrieve who he’d been sent for, and he turns his attention back to the Nephilim, trying to pretend he didn’t <em>feel</em> him flinch when he touched a hand to the back of his head “Let’s get you up, Isa, let’s get you up.” He get’s no response from the young Nephilim, and he curls his arms around behind him as he stands, chains rattle as he helps the boy to his feet, catching him when he collapses. “I’ve got you, it’s alright.”</p>
<p>The Captain soon learns why he’s not getting any verbal responses, there’s a muzzle wrapped around the lower half of the boy’s face, bright terrified blue eyes look up at him from under a curtain of curls.</p>
<p>“Oren, Constantine said you wanted to—<em>Isa</em>?”</p>
<p>Both of their heads turn at the sound of his voice, the boy whimpers again, stepping forward, his legs shake as he does, he leaves foot prints in his wake, and Oren stares down at them. Raphael catches the boy as his legs give out, chains rattling as he falls, the Nephilim whines behind his muzzle and curls his fingers in the front of his fathers tunic. He bends slightly at the knee, lifting the Nephilim in his arms, he wants answers, he’ll get his answers, but at a more appropriate time.  </p>
<p>Isa presses himself into his dad’s shoulder, and closes his eyes, he’s safe, he’s finally safe. He’s with his dad, with his family around him, he’s safe here, he’s home, he’s <em>finally </em>home.</p>
<p>He carries the boy to the nearest bed, leaning over to set him down, cooing softly when the boy whines again, trying to hang on to the front of his shirt. “It’s alright, my son, you’re alright.” He smooths the stiff curls back, caressing his cheek tenderly. “I’m not leaving you.” He spots something, it catches his eye, and he brushes his son’s wild curls to the side, and frowns, someone has branded his son. Someone has <em>branded </em>his son. There’s a letter ‘R’ under his right eye, it’s small, but noticeable. It’s fresh, scabbing over, and he coos down at him again when he whines once more, quenching the rage building in him at the sight of this. “It’s alright, my little one, you’re alright, I’m going to take care of you.” He pets his cheek lightly. “Oh, my son, I am so sorry.”</p>
<p>“Raph,” he looks away from his son, he beloved son, at the call of his name, his Virtues stand there, watching them, waiting for him to give them their orders. “What can we do to help?”</p>
<p>He smiles at them, and nods. “Akriel, Oren, tubs of water, sponges, soap, and towels.” His oldest two Virtues nod, darting off to collect what they were sent for. “Ephraim, blankets and clean clothes.” The empath nods, turning on his heel, jogging away. “Zed, I need potions, anything for pain relief.” His apothecary nods firmly, turning away, jogging to his workstation to search and mix what he needed together. “Constantine, pull the dividers around, we need some privacy.”</p>
<p>The last remaining Virtue nods, stepping around them to pull the divider’s around, and he turns his attention back to his young son. “Let’s get these restraints off of you.” He touches a finger to the collar around his son’s neck, then to the manacles around his wrists, pulling them away, dropping them to the floor at his feet. He touches a finger to the side of the muzzle, and when that melts enough, he pulls that away, dropping it down with the others, he leans over, taking his child’s hand when he reaches out, and touches a finger to the manacles around his ankles, pulling them away in turn, and he turns back to the boy, lifting his hand up, pressing his lips to the back. “We’ll take good care of you, my child, you are not leaving my side.”</p>
<p>“We’re back.” Oren and Akriel set their tubs do at his side, setting their other belongings on the bedside table, and he nods. “We’ll help strip him.”</p>
<p>“Be gentle.”</p>
<p>“Of course, Raph, of course.”</p>
<p>The two oldest Virtues carefully shimmy his pants down, then move up, pulling his shirt up over his head, he holds the Nephilim up so they can do so easily, and Akriel frowns. “Raph, look.” Still holding his sons hand, he looks around, frowning at the state of his back, someone has whipped his child, he looks closer, to his shoulders, and gently touches a finger to the raised skin. A name. Someone’s name has been branded on his child’s back.</p>
<p>“Oh, my sweet child,” he looks back down to his son, pressing his lips to the back of his hand again. “What happened?”</p>
<p>“Dad….” His voice is soft, most probably from disuse, and he stares down into his sons eyes, waiting for him to finish. “Plantation….Cotton plantation…..I was….I was a slave….On a cotton plantation.” He shifts slightly, reaching up with his other hand to touch the ‘R’ under his eye. “I…I was a runaway.”</p>
<p>“Oh, my beloved child.” He bows his head, pressing his forehead to the back of the boys hand. “Why didn’t you call for me, I would have come for you.”</p>
<p>“I..I didn’t want to hurt you.”</p>
<p>“Isa, my son,” he looks back up at him. “Seeing you like this hurts me more then anything.”</p>
<p>Isa’s bright eyes glisten with unshed tears. “I’m sorry, daddy.”</p>
<p>“Sshhh, my beloved son, do not cry, it’s alright.” He cups his cheek gently. “It’s alright, everything will be alright, we’ll get you patched up, as good as new, and you will remain at my side until I say you can leave again.”</p>
<p>He sniffles. “Okay, daddy.”</p>
<p>Raphael smiles at him, nodding at his two oldest Virtues, when the look at him for permission to begin bathing his boy. Isa starts when their sponges touch him, and he coos down at him softly, drawing his attention back to him. “It’s just your brothers, my child, just your brothers.” He looks up. “Oren, Akriel, introduce yourselves.”</p>
<p>Isa looks up, when a head appears in his vision, he knows that face, he knows that silver blonde hair, that beard that <em>always </em>finds a way to rub into his belly until he’s got tears of laughter in his eyes. “Hey, brother Isa.”</p>
<p>He smiles, reaching up with his other hand, rubbing his fingers over his beard, lips press against his fingertips. “Hey, brother Ak.”</p>
<p>The mental specialist smiles down at him in turn, kissing his fingertips lightly. “I’m going to get you nice and clean, alright?”</p>
<p>“Okay, brother Ak.”</p>
<p>Akriel smiles down at him again, and disappears, his other brother replaces him, Oren, good old trusty Oren, appears, and he smiles down at him. “Hey, baby brother.”</p>
<p>“Hi, big brother.”</p>
<p>“We’re never letting you go again; I hope you know that.”</p>
<p>He smiles up at him. “I don’t want you to.”</p>
<p>“Good, because we’re not.” Oren reaches out to rub at his cheek. “You’re going to have to live with us and all our smothering ways.”</p>
<p>“I want to be smothered.”</p>
<p>“Your wish is our command baby brother; your wish is our command.” He strokes his cheek, catching his other hand, and rubs his sponge down his arm. “We’re going to get you cleaned up.”</p>
<p>“Okay, Ori.”</p>
<p>Oren sponges his arm down, cleaning up the mess, until his skin is cleared and clean. Akriel’s washing his curls, the water is warm on his head, he feels his fingers gently scrubbing. The oldest Virtue uses a cloth to wash his face, rubbing gentle circles, mindful of the brand under his eye.</p>
<p>He turns his attention back to his dad, and the Healer smiles down at him, rubbing his thumb over the back of his hand. “I missed you, daddy.”</p>
<p>“I missed you too, my beloved child, with all my heart.”</p>
<p>Akriel rinses his curls, and wraps a towel under his head, to dry his curls, before moving on with his sponge, moving in sync with Oren as they clean him up, he blushes when the reach his private area, but they make no mention of it, and quickly move on, gentle as they wash his legs, down to his feet, over his souls and toes.</p>
<p>“Alright,” Oren drops two clean sponges in the clean tub. “Let’s turn him over so we can get his back side.”</p>
<p>Isa whines as they lift him carefully, trying to be mindful of his back, and turn him over. He reaches out for his dad once he’s settled, and the Archangel catches his hand, pressing his palm to his lips, folding both of his hands around his.</p>
<p>Zed makes his reappearance, calling them to wait as they reach for their clean sponges, and pours three bottles of some sort of concoction in the water, mixing it around with his hand. “There, that should help with the sting while you clean his back.” He rubs over the curls on the back of his head, leaning over to meet his gaze. “I’m going to get you something nice and strong so you can get a good night’s rest, baby brother.”</p>
<p>“Okay, big brother, I trust you.”</p>
<p>Zed smiles at him, stroking a finger down the bridge of his nose, and makes his departure, back to his work bench, disappearing around the dividers.</p>
<p>Though the sting is faint, he still hisses when they touch their sponges to his beaten back, they’re gentle, slow gentle circular motions, he bites his lip, clutching his dad’s hand, and clenches his eyes shut, until they’re done. They work quickly, efficiently, washing over his rear, down the backs of his legs, and he finally opens his eyes.</p>
<p>Akriel appears again. “We’re going to move you around so we can wrap you up, alright?”</p>
<p>He nods, biting his lip as they help him up, to sit on the edge of the bed, and wrap what seems like tons of bandages around his upper body. He feels fingers brush over the brand on his back, his owners name, someone owns him, he’s someone’s property.</p>
<p>“Isaiah,” his dad turns his attention around, his hand curled around his cheek, he meets the Healers emerald green eyes. “God doesn’t mean for man to own man. You are <em>nobodies</em> property.”</p>
<p>He nods mutely, reaching up to curl his hand around his dad’s, leaning into his touch, that touch is gentle, it means safety and home, he’s home.</p>
<p>“Let’s get you dressed.” Ephraim reappears, his arms laden with blankets, pillows, and on top, a pair of clean pajamas. He sets his things down on the foot of the bed, passing the pajamas forward, his dad helps him dress, his back is stiff, but whatever Zed put in the water numbs the sting.</p>
<p>They add extra pillows, for more support, and bundle him up in the blankets.</p>
<p>Constantine returns with a bowl of warm soup and a plate of bread, Zed’s right behind him, with a glass of cool water and another small bottle, for him to drink after supper, he says. Oren and Akriel clean up their mess, kissing him on the head as they depart, to clean up their mess and return their things to where they belong.</p>
<p>Ephraim pulls the dividers back, now that he’s cleaned and dressed and under the blankets, slowly eating his soup and bread, Constantine disappears again, he’s like the wind, that one.</p>
<p>Zed takes the chair on his other side, watching him eat silently, his work completed for the night.</p>
<p>Raphael looks up at him while his son is distracted with his supper. “Zed, help me push these two beds together, I am sleeping here with him for the night, I’ll move him in the morning.”</p>
<p>The apothecary nods, rising to his feet, helping him push the two beds together, and takes the bowl and plate when the boy’s done.</p>
<p>Isa looks over when he sees the movement, his dad laying in the bed next to him, and smiles, carefully curling into his side, under his arm, feeling comfort in the arm that curls around him protectively. Zed returns for a moment, to pull the blankets up over his Archangel, who rolls his eyes fondly, and to have him drink the potion he’d made, it’ll help him sleep, he says.</p>
<p>His mind feels fuzzy as he lays his head on his dad’s chest, listening to him hum softly, and he feels his eyes slowly flutter closed.</p>
<p>It’s a dreamless sleep. Thank God.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. At Your Side</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He touches the pendant his dad always wore, it feels like him, every time he touches it, it’s like he’s touching his dad, he can feel his grace within, it tingles over his fingers, and he smiles. Grandfather said he couldn’t bring him back right now, he had been ready to argue, he’d been <em>without </em>his dad for years, he needed him, he <em>needed </em>him, he was all he had <em>left</em>.</p><p>But Grandfather had been firm, telling him to be patient, all things in good time, and he’d decked Him in the face, he’d broken his hand, but he’d also broken His nose, for the few moments it gushed blood, his oldest Uncle asked if he sick in the head, to punch God in the face, to break God’s nose, and he replied with <em>‘if my dad were here, he would have stopped be before I could have’ </em>and stormed from the room.</p><p>He smiles to himself, the tingling sensation in the pendant is comforting, and he looks up, his Uncles are just blurs of light, attacking a giant swirling Darkness. In the midst of the Darkness, he can see his Grandfather’s Light. Light and Darkness duking it out, he wonders if this is how his two oldest Uncles looked like when they’d fought each other, and shakes his head, now’s not the time.</p><p>Notching an arrow in his dad’s bow, he pulls the string taught, bending slightly, he digs deep, deeper then he’s ever dug before, he wants to make his dad proud. He pulls at his grace, powered by his soul, an extra battery pack to an already powerful source, his dad once said he was one of the strongest beings in creation, though he’d been sure to say he wasn’t nearly as strong as him, he’d said that his soul mixed grace made him an ultimate weapon, and if he ever needed to, only if he <em>really </em>needed to, he could combined them together and his power would rival that of even his Grandfather, but he’d warned him against it, he’d said not to do it unless it was an absolute emergency. <em>‘It’ll burn your soul out, if you’re not careful, and you can’t live with one and not the other, they’re both a part of you, your life force, don’t waste it on something minor.’ </em>His dad had said.</p><p>His Grandfather is not winning this battle, he can see Him getting weaker, His Light slowly growing dimmer, and He’s his only hope at getting his dad back, He’s the only one who can give him back, he can’t let Him be defeated.</p><p>He’s a hunter, he grew up having to hunt for food; lizards, fish, deer, wild chickens, anything he could hit. His eye is keen, he sees the little details, he sees the black heart beating, pitch black tendrils pulse from there, outwards. If there’s one thing he’s learned in his long life, its knowing that if you hit the heart, if you strike the heart, it’s an instant incapacitation, your opponent is instantly down.</p><p>He couldn’t let his Grandfather die, not if he wanted his dad back, he inhales deeply, letting out a calming deep breath, and tugs harshly at his power, at his grace, at his soul, he feels them mix, and it’s like Power has washed over him, it’s like he’s underwater, in a vacuum, the noise of the battle waging above him fades, muffled, he forces his Power out, pushing it with all his might. The feathers on the back of the arrow rubs against his cheek, he zeroes in on his target, and lets go.</p><p>Gabriel and Lucifer are closest, they turn, at the shocking flash, to see to the nephew they’d only known for the span of a week, their eyes widening as they lay witness to him. The reason Nephilim were forbidden was because of their Power, their brute strength, given the right circumstance, they could surpass their parent’s power, their parent’s strength.</p><p>His eyes are glowing, a bright blue, so bright, it’s almost white, pure Energy surrounds them, the same Energy that surrounds their Father. But, that’s not what causes them to stare, they know how powerful Nephilim are, no, what causes them to stare is the figure, made out of currents of electricity, formed around the boy, following his motions, taller then him, they know who the figure must be. The arrow is released, and it flies forward, they watch it, it looks like a shooting star, trailing bright light behind it. It disappears into the swirling darkness, and they turn, shielding their eyes, when a burst of light explodes in the darkness, there’s a loud screech, coming from their Aunt, the Darkness shudders, light flowing over the dark tendrils, overpowering them, it crackles and sparks, swallowing the Darkness.</p><p>Michael pauses, sword raised, as an arrow pierces the dark heart, turning away, shielding his eyes as it explodes into an all consuming light, it cracks, static fills the room, their hair stands on end, and when it fades, to a more bearable degree, he turns back, watching as the Darkness screeches, swallowed by the light that pierced it’s heart.</p><p>He looks down, Father materializing below them, cutting into the Ether with His hand, and like a vacuum, the withering Darkness is sucked in, imprisoned once again, in a place She cannot escape, where She can rage all She desires, and never harm another living soul again.</p><p>“Hey, kid,” Dean Winchester reaches out for the teenager, and yelps, his arm yanked back, Michael shakes his head. “Hey!”</p><p>“Do not touch him.”</p><p>“Why the hell not!”</p><p>“There are currently thousands of volts circulating around his person, if you touch him, it will not just stop your heart, it will fry you.”</p><p>Yea, that sounds like a good reason, he grimaces, turning to watch the Nephilim stumble forward, the magnificent bow falls from his hands, it clatters to the floor under him, he steps forward, curling in on himself, the figure standing with him stays where he’d left, bright blue currents forming their body, they reach out, when the Nephilim falls forward, as though to try and catch him.</p><p>Michael and Lucifer step forward, curling their hands around the humans eyes, turning away themselves, as the light around the boy explodes, and then everything returns to normal. The static is gone, their hair falls back into place, and the figures disappeared.</p><p>“His father is going to kill Me.” He kneels at the boy’s side, reaching out to feel his neck, searching for a pulse. “I don’t know how. But I’m sure he’ll find a way.”</p><p>“Hey, hey man, what was that?”</p><p>He spares the hunter a glance, rolling the boy over onto his back, he follows limply, and He presses a hand to his chest. “He burned his soul out.” He shakes His head lightly. “Foolish boy.”</p><p>Sam clears his throat. “What’s that mean?”</p><p>Gabriel comes to stand at his side, and grimaces. “That means he’s dead.” He rubs at his face lightly. “Raph’s going to <em>kill </em>us.”</p><p>“It’s no matter. I am Life. I can bring him back.” He looks up at them, a particular expression overcoming His features, if Sam didn’t know any better, he’d say he saw fear flit over His features. “Let’s <em>not </em>tell your brother about this.”</p><p>“Agreed.” Michael and Lucifer nod in unison.</p><p>Gabriel snorts. “What makes you think he doesn’t <em>already </em>know. He knows that kid like he knows the back of his hand. He’ll know if something’s out of place.”</p><p>Lucifer loath to do it, but he nodded in agreement. “His grace is still active, it surrounded the boy, there’s a possibility that he’s aware.”</p><p>“That’s what I’m afraid of.”</p><p>…</p><p><em>“Isaiah, you are going to be grounded for the rest of your long, long life.” </em>He knows that voice, that voice does not sound pleased, he wonders if he can get away with pretending that he’s still unconscious. <em>“I know you’re awake.”</em></p><p>He makes no notion to acknowledge that proclamation, just laying there, trying to remain as limp at he can. Fingers curl and squeeze into his right thigh, and he shrieks, involuntarily, kicking his legs as he shoots up in the bed he’s been placed in.</p><p>“You burned your soul out.” Those fingers pause their squeezing, but they don’t move, and he takes notice of that immediately. “You <em>died</em>, Isaiah.”</p><p>“Daddy!” His father, Raphael, does not look amused, he meets his exclamation with a dull look, and squeezes his thigh again, he shrieks once more and kicks his leg, until those fingers fall still. “I’m sorry!”</p><p>“As you <em>should </em>be.”</p><p>“But, <em>but,” </em>he points a finger in his father’s face, he goes cross eyed to look at it for a moment, before he returns his gaze to him. “I couldn’t let Grandfather die; He was my <em>only</em> hope of getting you back!”</p><p>“There is not a world I would want to live in that you are not there living with me.”</p><p>“You could have had another kid!”</p><p>“<em>Isaiah!” </em>He flinches at his name being said in that particular tone and looks down to the fingers still curled in his thigh. “Don’t you <em>ever </em>say something like that again, child, look at me.” Isa lifts his gaze to meet his dad’s emerald eyes. “You are my <em>only </em>child, I want no one else, if I can’t have <em>you</em>, I will have no one else.”</p><p>“I don’t know why,” he averts his eyes again, the first thing his dad probably heard when he was brought back, was that he had died, and he feels bad, he’d messed up again, that’s all he’s good at sometimes, it seems. “Maybe your next kid won’t be so troublesome.”</p><p>“I don’t know when you started thinking so lowly of yourself.” Those fingers squeeze into his thigh again, and he squeals, unashamedly, it’s just him and his dad, he thinks, he hopes, he doesn’t want anyone else to hear him squeal like that, reaching down to tug at his dad’s hand, he curls his fingers around his wrist and pulls, but the fingers only squeeze in sharper, and he squeals again, squirming around in the bed under him. “But it’s something I intend to rectify.”</p><p>“Dahahahhad! Dahahahahhad! I’m sohohohorry! Dahahahhad!” He throws himself at him, and he hears his father laugh softly, long fingers catching him around the middle, and he’s pulled to sit on his dad’s lap. He leans in close as fingers tangle in his curls. “I really missed you, daddy.”</p><p>Warm lips press to his forehead. “I missed you too, my son, how have you been faring in my absence?”</p><p>“I’ve been okay.” The Nephilim fiddles with his fingers. “Here and there, you know, like a nomad.”</p><p>“I see,” the Archangel’s voice rumbles in his ear. “It was a trick question, I can see perfectly well for myself how you’ve been faring in my absence, those bags under your eyes are <em>very </em>pronounced. I can feel that you’ve lost weight. You rather on the pale side. And do not think I missed the discoloring of bruises on the knuckles of your right hand, I heard you punched my Father, not your brightest decision.” Isa watches him as he lifts his hand up to his lips, pressing his lips over his knuckles, and the bruises fade completely. “We are going to go get you a nice hearty meal and then it’s right back to bed with you, no arguments, child, you will simply do as you’re told.”</p><p>“Yessir.” He hugs him around the neck. “I’m happy your back, dad.”</p><p>Arms curl around him, a hand curls around the back of his head. “I’m happy to be back <em>with</em> you, Isa, I’ve missed you terribly.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. A Series Of Mugshots</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Hey, Sammy, what’s that kids last name?”</p><p>The younger Winchester looks up from the book he’s reading. “Who?”</p><p>“Ninja turtles kid, what his last name?”</p><p>Sam Winchester shrugs, wracking his brain. “Mostafa, I think, why?”</p><p>“I’m looking him up.”</p><p>The younger leans forward. “What?”</p><p>“He’s been around for a while, I bet he’s seen some stuff, I’m looking him up, see if he’s in anything interesting.” Dean Winchester types on their laptop. “How do you spell that, his last name?”</p><p>“M-o-s-t-a-f-a.”</p><p>“Thanks.” He types the letters in and hits search, surfing through the pages that come up, a grin crosses his features. “Hey, Sammy, come take a look at this, kid’s got a mugshot!”</p><p>“What?” Sam sets his book down, standing from his chair, crossing around to stand behind his older brother, reading over his shoulder. Sure enough, there in black and white, is a familiar face. A beanie over his head, curls just as pronounced as they were now, holding a sign for New York State Penitentiary with his inmate identification number on it, smiling cheekily at the camera, is the Nephilim son of Raphael. He reads the caption. “Isaiah Mostafa, infamous mafia hitman ‘Black Widow’, captured June 18<sup>th</sup> of 1924, sentence 65 years, multiple counts of homicide. Oh, my god, he was a mafia hitman.”</p><p>“That’s not it though, check this out.”</p><p>Sam watches as his brother scrolls down, this one is a rough drawing, a sketch of a figure, but there’s no mistaking it. “Jack The Ripper suspect Isaiah Mostafa, aged sixteen years, negro, unconfirmed.”</p><p>“Keep scrolling.”</p><p>Dean nods, scrolling down again, this one is of an old photograph. “Wanted, multiple counts of homicide, mobster Isaiah Mostafa, one-thousand-dollar reward for capture, if sighted, do not approach, considered armed and dangerous.”</p><p>“Look at this one,” Sam points to it as his older brother scrolls down, this time he’s scowling at the camera, his middle finger raised for them to see, already in a black and white jumpsuit. “Famous Gangster Black Widow, Isaiah Mostafa, captured September 8<sup>th</sup>, 1968, caught with 10 thousand pounds of cocaine at Mexican border, suspect in four homicides, more information to be released as a later date.”</p><p>Dean grins up at him, that little shit had it coming. “I wonder if daddy knows about this.”</p><p>“Dean, I don’t think we should, he already doesn’t like us, I don’t think telling on him would help.”</p><p>“Come on, Sammy, don’t tell me you don’t want at least a little revenge for all the shit he’s put us and Cas through, he infected me with the Plague for God’s sake.”</p><p>He did make a good point. “Okay…If you think so.”</p><p>“Hell yea!” Dean Winchester raises his gaze to the ceiling. “Hey, ninja turtle! I know you can hear me, you asshole, we need you!”</p><p>There’s a brief silence, and they wait, they know he’ll come, God told them all to respond if they were called on, now whether or not they stayed, that was up to them.</p><p>A flutter of wings announces his arrival. “Dean Winchester, to what do I owe the extreme displeasure, as I’m sure you can imagine, I am a very busy man.”</p><p>“Yea, yea, c’mere, I think you’ll want to see this.” He waves the Archangel over from over his shoulder, he sighs deeply, but humors the hunter, coming to stand at his other shoulder, the tall Archangel leans over the hunter’s shoulder to see the screen, watching as he scrolls back up to the top of the page, Sam watches the Archangel’s eyes widen at the first mugshot, his eyes moving as he reads the caption underneath. Dean scrolls down, and the Archangel continues to read silently, he mumbles under his breath and shakes his head, nodding for the hunter to scroll down, the archangel reads the last caption and purses his lips, straightening up. “Good, right?” He glares down at the hunter before him.</p><p>“<em>Isaiah Ishmael Mostafa, come here.”</em></p><p>Sam blinks at the tone, Dean grins lightly, scrolling back to the top of the page, turning in his chair.</p><p>A soft flutter of wings announces his arrival, the Nephilim appears at the Archangel’s side, slurping on the straw of a slushie. “Yea, dad?” Raphael looks down at him harshly, the boy chokes on his sip at the gaze, and he slowly pulls the straw from his mouth. “Something wrong?”</p><p>“Pray tell, would you explain something for me?”</p><p>Isa shrugs, taking another sip. “Sure.”</p><p>The Archangel turns, gesturing to the laptop in front of the oldest hunter, the Nephilim leans in to see what’s on the page, and grins. “Oh, that’s a good one, not my best, but a good one.”</p><p>Sam’s eyes widen. “There’s <em>more</em>?”</p><p>“Dude, I was once on the list of the FBI’s most wanted, so, uh, yea, fifty-four, I think, I’m sure that’s right.” He scrolls down on the page, coming to the sketch of him. “Ha! I remember that, good times!” Isa keeps scrolling, coming across the last mugshot on the page. “Oh, man, this is one of my favorites. I was so pissed. Rewrote a few memories with this one, walked out a free man, never got caught again.”</p><p>The younger hunter inhales deeply. “So…So were you really Jack The Ripper?”</p><p>The Nephilim spares him a glance. “Dude, what happened in the 1880s stays in the 1880s, can neither confirm nor deny.” He looks back at the page and smiles. “Good times though. Good times.” He takes a sip from his slushie. “Lot’s of good memories, did you know, the Zodiac made a mean pot pie. So good. I’d die for another one.” He snorts. “Get it, <em>die</em>, because he was a serial killer. I’m too good.” He straightens and sticks the straw back in his mouth, slurping a big gulp. “Good times, gooood times.”</p><p>
  <em>“Isaiah Ishmael Mostafa.” </em>
</p><p>He visibly flinches at the use of his full name, first, middle, and last. Dean grins at him, and he glares down at the hunter, this was a setup, he’s been duped.</p><p>“Look at me.”</p><p>The Nephilim turns slowly, looking up at his father with wide eyes, Raphael’s hands are resting on his hips, and he glares down at his son, actually glares. Isa gulps softly, backing up a step, tossing the slushie over his shoulder, the Winchesters wait for it to splash on the table, but is disappears midair. “Um…Yea, daddy?”</p><p>“You mean to tell me that all of that nonsense is <em>true</em>?”</p><p>“Umm…..For my personal safety….I’m going to say <em>‘no’</em>.”</p><p>“Isaiah Ishmael, do <em>not </em>lie to me.” Both Archangel and Nephilim stare at each other, the youth goes cross-eyed when a dark finger points in his face. “The truth.”</p><p>“Okay, well, I mean, sure.” He steps back another step, hitting the table behind him, and he leans back when his dad takes a step forward, his eyes flickering, he’s infuriated, this does not bode well for him. “But, I mean, the past is in the past, right, bygones are bygones, and all that jazz. Not a big deal. What’s happened, happened. Let’s live in the here and now, not in the past, forgive and forget, am I right?” He leans back even further as the space between them closes with every step. “It’s not like anyone really remembers, just in passing, it’s another rumor, I rewrote their memories, the ones directly involved, so no harm no foul.”</p><p>“<em>You tampered with people’s minds?”</em></p><p>The Nephilim shakes his head quickly, his eyes widening when his father leans forward, their face to face. “No, no, did I say that, no way, I know you always say not to tamper with the mind, tricky thing, the mind!”</p><p>Dark fingers curl around his collar and pull him forward, he looks between his dad’s flickering eyes nervously, reaching up to curl his fingers around his wrist. “<em>You are in so much trouble.”</em></p><p>Isa gulps.</p><p>…</p><p>Oren stands outside his Archangel’s office, the door closed in front of him, frozen to the spot, listening to the howls and cries from within, he knows who those howls and cries belong to, <em>‘what did he do this time?’</em>.</p><p>He turns away, making his way back to the floor, setting the chart he carries on the Archangel’s desk on the floor.</p><p>He’ll bring it to his attention later.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Physical Affection</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Dad?" He looks up as a head of raging curls pokes in from behind the door. "Are you busy?"</p><p>He shakes his head, waving the boy in, and the Nephilim steps in silently, closing the door behind him quietly, making sure it doesn't bang or anything. "What have you done now, Isa?"</p><p>The boy crosses to stand before his desk, and he looks up from his journal when he doesn't immediately respond, usually with his customary <em>'why do you always assume I've done something' </em>but this time he doesn't utter a word. The child fiddles with his fingers, and he sits up straighter, preparing himself for the worst, his son has never tried anything <em>too </em>reckless, but he wouldn't find it unbelievable for him to finally cross that unspoken line. "Isaiah?"</p><p>His child flinches at the use of his full name, and he licks his lips, looking down to his feet for a moment. "I'm sorry I'm so troublesome, dad."</p><p>He hums in confusion, not understanding where this was coming from, and sets his pen down, leaning forward on his arms. "What?"</p><p>"I'm always causing you more trouble and stress then you deserve, burdening you, and I'm sorry. I don't mean to be a nuisance."</p><p>"My son," he watches him carefully. "Where is this coming from?" He fears the worst. "Has someone said something to you?" That his son is being bullied.</p><p>"No, no," the Nephilim shakes his head, and looks up at him, he looks tired, and sad, he doesn't like that gleaming in his eyes, they should be bright, as they usually were, and full of mischief. "It's just….You're always so busy, taking care of everyone else, and you shouldn't have to worry about taking care of your own kid too, especially when they do something stupid, and end up diverting you from someone else who needs you more, and I'm sorry that I get in the way like that."</p><p>"Isa, my son," his dad holds a hand out to him. "Come here." He takes his father's hand, it guides him around the edge of his desk, and pulls him down to rest in his lap. He leans against his chest, as arms curl around his waist, and lips press firmly to his forehead. "You have no need to apologize to me. I don't find you burdensome, and you are no nuisance, you're curious and adventurous, a tad on the reckless side, but that's who you are. I wouldn't have you any other way then who you are." His large hand rubs over his arm lightly. Emerald green eyes looking into bright electric blue. "Yes, I am a busy man, on most days, and yes, I do take care of you often because of your adventures, I take care of you because you are my child, my only son, and I care deeply for you. I care for you because I know if I do it, it will be done right, and not to discredit my healers, they knew very well what they are doing, but I will trust no one else to care for you other then myself, because I know how to care for you best. I don't mind it, not in the slightest, you could go so far as to say, you make sure my skills never become rusty." He smiles down at him, pressing their foreheads together, and the Nephilim boy smiles when he brushes their noses together, he counts it as a victory, making his children smile will always be a victory. "Me worrying for you does not make you a burden, and it does not get in the way of my faculties, I worry about you because you are my son, my child, I worry for you just as much as I worry for your sister, though perhaps I worry about you a bit more, because you like to wander and explore new places, because you are so adventurous, I worry you will get yourself into a situation I am not fast enough to pull you from or aid you in. My worrying about you does not make you a burden to me."</p><p>Isa stares up at him silently for a moment. "You promise, dad?"</p><p>"I will never lie to you. If I think you are being too reckless, I will say something, and order you to stop."</p><p>"Or, I'll be grounded?"</p><p>"Right, if you do not, you will be grounded." He rubs the side of his thigh with his thumb. "Remember the incident with the fireworks?"</p><p>"I remember your hand and how heavy it is."</p><p>"I'm glad it was memorable." Raphael smiles lightly in amusement. "You almost blew yourself up and I was furious, because it was so reckless, and you had not stopped when I told you to." He squeezes the outside of his thigh lightly. "What brought this on, did something happen?"</p><p>Isa looks down at his hands. "I don't want to get them in trouble."</p><p>"Isaiah, I do not tolerate bullying in my flock, you know that just as well as everyone else, if someone has been bullying you, I want you to tell me."</p><p>He cringes at the use of his full name and knows not to push his luck when that's involved, and he nods lightly. "Arlo." He feels bad for ratting him out, but he doesn't want to face his dads ire, especially when it came to something he took as seriously as he took bullying. "He said the only reason you kept me around was because you didn't want me to burden someone else."</p><p>Isa looks up when his father doesn't respond, at first thinking it's because he agrees, but taking in his expression, particularly the gleam in his eyes, he knew he was wrong, he was just angry.</p><p>He takes a moment, and the Archangel finally sighs, shaking his head lightly, patting his outer thigh lightly. "Thank you for telling me." The Healer shakes his head lightly. "Titus warned me about him. I will deal with this immediately."</p><p>"Please don't tell him I was the one who told."</p><p>"I would never." He curls his left arm around his waist and reaches for his pen with his right hand. "I will deal with this once I am done with my entry. You'll wait upstairs, Oren is up there, he had a bit of a headache and I gave him the day to rest, knowing him, he'll drag you down into bed with him, and you'd best not fight it." He squeezes his hip lightly. "You could use all the rest you can get, my little insomniac."</p><p>"I'm not an insomniac, my late-night escapades are completely optional."</p><p>He chuckles, leaning over to kiss the boy on the cheek lightly. "I <em>know</em> they are."</p>
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<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Playing Chicken</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He loved his son, he truly did, he loved him with all his heart, just as much as he loved his daughter, one thing he didn't like, however, was his son's antics. It was like he purposefully put himself into harms way just to see how far he could push him, how much he was willing to heal, how many lives he truly had.</p><p>He loved his son, but he caused him so much exasperation, how could one child cause so much trouble.</p><p>"Isa, what on earth are you <em>doing</em>?"</p><p>The Nephilim grits his teeth, holding a ball of flames in his hand, staring at his youngest Virtue. Zaveriel smirks lightly, holding his own ball of holy flames, but his smirk quickly faded into a biting of the lip.</p><p>Raphael looks between the two of them, shaking his head, and reels his hand back to smack his son over the back of the head. It breaks the boy's concentration, and he yelps, dropping the ball of flames to the floor, where it dissipates with a puff of smoke, he stares down at the slight scorch on the stone floor.</p><p>"Aw, dad!" Familiar bright blue eyes turn towards him. "I was winning!"</p><p>"You're both idiots, is what you are." The Archangel snags him by the wrist, tugging him closer, he catches sight of his youngest Virtue's smirk. "I wouldn't be so smug, Zaveriel, you can be the one to explain to Oren what happened to <em>your </em>hand." His smirk fades. "That's what I thought. Go on." Zaveriel looks regretful as he turns to spy out his older brother, and nods, a tad begrudgingly, heading off to him.</p><p>Isa makes a nervous sound. "Can Ori take care of my hand too, dad?"</p><p>He gives the boy a look, <em>the </em>look, and his mouth closes with a soft pop. "No, <em>I'm </em>going to take care of you."</p><p>Isa gulps softly. "That's what I was afraid of."</p><p>He narrows his eyes. "What was that?"</p><p>"I love you, daddy."</p><p>"That's what I <em>thought</em> you said."</p><p>A yelp makes it's way to his ears and he looks around, spotting his youngest and his oldest, Zaveriel is rubbing the back of his head pitifully with his unburned hand, Oren snaps something, what it is, he has no idea, and yanks the younger angel forward sharply.</p><p>"You'll be gentle right?" Isa trots forward to walk at his side, looking up at him with those same wide eyes that got him out of so much trouble as a young child, perhaps that's where he'd gone wrong, perhaps he hadn't been as firm as he needed to be. "I mean, it hurts, you'll be gentle, right, dad?"</p><p>"I guess we'll just have to find out, won't we?" He pushes him down to sit on the edge of a bed, and pulls a chair over, reaching over to pull a cart closer to him. "You better not move."</p><p>"I'll try not to."</p><p>He hums, digging through the second drawer for a few bags of black tea, he drops them into a bowl of cool water sitting on the top of the cart, waiting a few minutes for it to steep and the water slowly fades into a dark brown. Removing the tea bags, he pulls the bowl down to rest on his knees, gesturing for his son to stick his burned hand into the water. Isa sighs at the cool feeling.</p><p>"What were you even attempting to accomplish doing something so foolish?"</p><p>He smiles slightly, as though his hand wasn't tingling from the burn over his palm, and he wasn't leaning forward with his hand in a bowl of cool black tea. "Zaves said he could hold onto holy fire longer then I could."</p><p>Raphael sighs deeply, that kind of sigh that parent's give when they are questioning why they must deal with such things and shakes his head exasperatedly. "You don't have to take everything as a challenge you know, you could be a normal boy, not putting yourself into harms way every time my back is turned."</p><p>"I don't put myself in harms way <em>every </em>time your back is turned."</p><p>He levels a dull look at the boy, and he smiles slightly. "Isa, that does not help your case."</p><p>"I knooow." His son whines softly. "But, if I was any different, your life would be boring."</p><p>"Are you telling me, that you do all of this, to keep me <em>entertained</em>?"</p><p>"Yes," he back tracks quickly at the look he receives. "No, <em>no, </em>no! It's not like that! Forget I even said that! What! I don't know! Daddy, my hand hurts!"</p><p>The Healer stares at him for a moment, and huffs, shaking his head again, pulling the teenagers hand from the water. He sets the bowl back on the cart and reaches into the bottom drawer for a small towel. He dabs the boy's hand dry, perhaps a bit firmer then he needs to, judging from the squeaks the boy lets go as he does, and sets the towel aside, leaning over to dig through the second drawer again, pulling out a bottle of cream. Aloe vera could treat any minor burns, and this wasn't too major, possibly on the second-degree scale, but most certainly nothing too serious. He rubs a few fingers full of the aloe over his palm, a bit firmly, and wraps it securely in a swath of gauze.</p><p>Isa whines as he pulls his bandaged hand back, waving it slightly, as it throbs, his dad had <em>not </em>been gentle. "<em>Ooowww!</em> Your bedside manner is terrible! That hurt even more then holding the flames did!"</p><p>His dad hums softly, patting him on the knee for his attention, and holds out a small cup of two blue pills and a glass of water for him. "Here, take these, they'll help with the pain." He nods as the boy takes the cup with the pills and then the glass of water. "And, my bedside manner is <em>impeccable</em>. Even to those who are extremely <em>stupid </em>sometimes."</p><p>"Are you talking about me?" The boy follows him as he guides him around into the bed, leaning over to pull his sneakers off, and pulls the blankets up over him. "I feel like you're talking about me."</p><p>"Heaven's <em>no</em>." The way he says it leads him to believe otherwise. "I would <em>never </em>call you stupid."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Of The Sleep Deprived</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Hey," he settles a hand on the nephilims head, it doesn't break his stare, and he frowns, pinching him on the arm lightly. "Hey, Isa," he gets no outward reaction to his being there and his frown deepens, he turns to look over his shoulder, raising his free hand, to gain the other's attention behind him. Emerald green eyes meet his, and there's a quick nod, as the Archangel passes a stack of folders to the young healer standing at his side, she scurries off and he steps forward, making his way over to their side. He turns back to the Nephilim boy when he hears the Archangel approaching clearly, over the general chatter and noise of the Infirmary space around them. "Isa?" The boy doesn't turn to look at him, doesn't move, not even a twitch, he just stands there, staring at the wall unblinkingly.</p><p>"Oren, what seems to be the trouble here?"</p><p>The Virtue shrugs, looking over to the Healer over the boy's head, and pokes the child in the arm, gaining no response. "He's not responding."</p><p>Raphael frowns, reaching out to shake the boy's shoulder, he moves with the motion, but doesn't break his stare. "Isa," he curls his fingers under his chin and tugs his head around forcibly. "What are you looking at?"</p><p>The break in the contact breaks him from his reverie, and the boy jolts slightly, reaching over to rub at his arm. "Ow! Who pinched me!"</p><p>"I did." He turns at the voice, looking up to the angel at his right, Oren's raised his hand slightly, pointing to himself as he did. "Like, a minute and a half ago."</p><p>"Isa, my son," he's turned around again, and he looks up into his dad's emerald eyes. "Why were you staring at the wall?"</p><p>Isa rubs at his head lightly, turning as much as he can in his dad's grip to return to looking at the wall. "It <em>moved</em>!"</p><p>"What?"</p><p>"It <em>moved </em>dad!" He turns back to the Archangel before him. "I swear, it moved, and I was watching it in case it moved again."</p><p>"Right, it moved, follow my finger for me." The oldest angel here raises a finger in front of him, it hovers in front of his nose, and he goes cross eyed to stare at it, and he follows it as it moves to the right, turning his head slightly. "No, no, keep your head straight, follow with just your eyes." He nods and straightens his head again, the finger moves the other side, and his head turns again. "Just your eyes, Isa."</p><p>"I am!"</p><p>Oren raises an eyebrow behind him, and reaches out, curling his hands around the sides of the boy's head, keeping it still. Raphael moves his finger back over to the right, and the boy tries to follow, he gasps softly. "Dad, where'd your finger go!"</p><p>"What do you mean where'd my finger go?" The Archangel's eyebrows scrunch together. "It's right here." He wiggles his finger and Isa stares, narrowing his eyes, and shakes his head as much as he can with the Virtue holding it. "Where, I can't see it!"</p><p>"Isa, when was the last time you slept?" He drops his hand and stares down at the boy, daring him to make something up to ease this away, and the boy gulps lowly at the sternness shining in his eyes. "You're mind is on the brink of shutting down on itself."</p><p>"Umm….I don't know….." The Nephilim physically counts on his fingers. "Maybe….four nights ago?"</p><p><em>"Four nights ago!</em>" Raphael takes a breath to calm himself, running a hand down his face, sighing deeply to relieve himself, and gives his boy his attention once more. "We're getting you to bed."</p><p>"What?" He stumbles forward when Oren releases his head and pushes him gently, his dad catches him before he can actually trip over his feet and guides him around fluidly. "But, I'm not even tired!"</p><p>"You're right, you're not tired, you're <em>exhausted</em>." He's guided to a rather large bed, one of the bed's in the back, those ones are larger then the others, he doesn't understand why, he thinks it was a design flaw. "You're about ready to keel over." He watches his dad pull the blankets back and gesture to the bed. "Climb in."</p><p>"I don't know man."</p><p>"Isaiah, climb in."</p><p><em>Uh oh, the full name</em>. The Nephilim nods obediently, slipping out of his high tops, he crawls sloppily into the bed, sliding under the blankets as they're held up for him to climb under. He lays back against the pillows and rubs at his eyes, staring up at his father, he smiles down at him. "Get some sleep."</p><p>"Dad, I'm not tired though."</p><p>"Isa, I love you, with all my heart, and that is why I say with the utmost certainty, if you do not go to sleep, I will have <em>no </em>hesitation in drugging you."</p><p>He tilts his head. "But, dad, I'm running on a streak of four days, here."</p><p>"Yes, and that streak ends now, you will never attempt to break it." The archangel brushes his thick silky curls back. "Go to sleep."</p><p>"But, dad, I can't. My mind won't let me."</p><p>"Ah, I can fix that." The Archangel holds up a finger, turning to the cart sitting next to the bed, and leans over to reach into the first drawer, withdrawing a small syringe. "Here we are."</p><p>Isa's eyes widen and he shakes his head. "No, no that's okay, I can force it."</p><p>"No, no, if you need help, it's my job, as your father and as the Healer, it's my job to help you."</p><p>He uncaps the needle and sets the cap on top of the cart, leaning over to sit on the bed, reaching to pull the blankets down.</p><p>Isa stares at the shot and scoots away as much as he can. "No, no, dad, please don't, it's gonna hurt, don't hurt me, daddy."</p><p>"Oh, calm down, it'll only be a pinch." He shakes his head when his son reaches for his sleeve. "I'm afraid it doesn't go there, my child."</p><p>The boy's eyes widen when it dawns on him, it takes a moment for his sleep deprived mind to figure it out, and he shakes his head. "Dad, no, not that, not there, I'll go to sleep, I swear."</p><p>"You said you physically could not fall asleep and I intend to help you with this problem."</p><p>"You really don't have to."</p><p>"Oh, but it would be my pleasure." He pats the side of the boy's thigh. "Roll up."</p><p>"No! No, those hurt the worst!" His boy whines pitifully. "Why are you trying to hurt me daddy!"</p><p>He shakes his head. "Now, you're just being dramatic." He pushes the boy over forcibly, pulling his sweat pants down slightly, and sticks the needle into the side of his left cheek, pushes the plunger quickly, and pulls it out a moment later.</p><p>That doesn't stop the boy from shrieking softly, rubbing at his left butt cheek, whining pitifully. "Daddy, that hurts! Why are you being so mean to me!"</p><p>"Hush now, my boy, you're alright." He rolls his eyes, it's a fond gesture, and he leans forward to rub his fingers through the boy's curls soothingly. "Settle yourself down. It'll only ache for a moment." It only takes a moment, but the boy drops off like a well fed newborn, and he smiles, untangling his fingers from his curls, and pulls the blankets up under his chin. "Sleep well, my little one."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. That Time With The Fireworks</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Isaiah!" His head shoots up at the call of his name, just as the fuses of the large rocket fireworks burns up, hands curl around his arms and tug him around, he's pressed to someone's chest as the fireworks go off behind him. The explosions make his ears ring, and the ground rumbles as the large rockets take off, and he peers over his savior's shoulder to watch the colors light up the sky. "What in Gods name were you <em>thinking</em>!" A large hand claps over his bottom and he jumps forward, trapping himself against the person as the hand continues to fall again and again. "I told you <em>no</em>, child, when I tell you <em>not </em>to do something, you are <em>not </em>to do it."</p><p>"Ow! Ow, dad! Ow! Stop!" He tries to bounce away, but a hand curls around his upper arm and spins him around, the swats continue uninhibited. "Ow! I was fine though! Ow! Ow! I didn't get hurt!"</p><p>"You <em>could </em>have! You <em>could </em>have blown yourself up! I do not tell you <em>'no' </em>to be a stick in the mud, I tell you <em>'no' </em>because you are my son and I have only your best interests in mind!"</p><p>"Ow! Ow! Ow! You're completely overreacting! Ow! OW!"</p><p>He's spun around, his father's eyes glow in the darkness, his power is right under the skin. "You think <em>this </em>is overreacting, just you wait and see what's in store for you."</p><p>The Nephilim's eyes widen slightly, gulping lightly as his dad bends at the knee and scoops him up into his arms, he makes not a protest as he opens his beautiful emerald wings, bends at the knee once more, and rockets them into the sky. He ducks his face into the side of his neck, there's a bite in the wind, it strikes him like little knives piercing his skin. He can feel how tense his father is in his position, the muscles are constricted, he's <em>angry, </em>and that in itself makes something sink down into the pits of his stomach, his father is not <em>nice </em>when he's angry.</p><p>He feels it when they break through the barrier, and he pulls away from the Archangel's neck, looking out at all the buildings, though he's been in this position numerous times, the sight never ceases to amaze him, it's beautiful, his Grandfather really made the place a grand as possible, He'd really outdone Himself.</p><p>They fly over the buildings towards the familiar looming structure that meant his impending doom, he'd hoped they hadn't reached it so soon, he doesn't want to see what his father has in store for him, he's really outdone himself this time.</p><p>His father lands just before the two massive open doors, but doesn't put him down, probably to save him the effort of having to chase him down when he inevitably made a break for it, anything to spare himself from his father's angered creativity. He carries him into the Infirmary, he had most probably been working when word had reached his ears of his sons latest escapade, and he'd dropped what he'd been doing when he'd heard of his doings, he carries him down the main row, and he looks around, for anyone who could possibly over him some semblance of aid, Oren shakes his head when their eyes meet and he recalls pouting vaguely. He's carried down beyond the beds, to the office in the back, and that's where he's set on his feet once more, safely inside the office, his father blocking any possibilities of escaping when he closes the door behind him and steps forward, guiding him forward with him with a grip around his upper arm.</p><p>"You could have <em>killed </em>yourself, Isaiah, do you realize that?" He's forced to stand before his fathers desk, and he turns to look up at the tall man, wincing slightly at the heat in his eyes, he's really done it this time. "When I told you <em>'no fireworks'</em>, I was not trying to quench your adventures nor your fun, I was trying to <em>protect </em>you. You could have blown yourself up. Despite what you seem to think, you do not, in fact, have nine lives."</p><p>"I'm really sorry, dad." He bats his eyes, attempting to appeal to his parent's better nature, the dull look he receives in return proves just how well that works. "I won't ever do it again."</p><p>"I think you need a bit of enticement to convince you to <em>'never do it again', </em>lest, I don't think you'll actually <em>'never do it again'</em>."</p><p>"Umm." He rubs at the back of his neck. "Can we <em>not </em>and <em>say </em>we did?"</p><p>"You're stalling."</p><p>"I am doing no such thing."</p><p>"Mhmm." Raphael gestures to his desk. "Clear the edge."</p><p>Isa eyes the desk he gestures to and whines softly. "What are you going to do?"</p><p>"I haven't decided. It'll be a surprise for both of us." He points to the desk once more. "Clear it."</p><p>The Nephilim boy nods, turning to do as he's told, he leans over carefully to close his father's journal and in his bent position, the Archangel swats him harshly, and he jumps, yelping in surprise at the suddenness of the assault. "Continue clearing it."</p><p>"Ow! Okay, okay! I'm going, let's keep our hands to ourselves."</p><p>He swats him again. "Don't think you can tell me what to do, child."</p><p>The Archangel nods when the edge of his desk is cleared. "Now, lean over the edge."</p><p>Isa whines softly and does as he's told, watching his dad as best as he can, as he steps around behind him. He turns his head to watch where he's going, and his face pales, as much as it can, when he sees him reach for his staff. "Please, no, not the staff. Please, daddy. Not that. Not the staff."</p><p>"Hush, and look around to the front, Isaiah."</p><p>The Nephilim boy whines softly, watching him cross his office once more, and looks down at his hands when he disappears behind him. "Please, daddy, please not that."</p><p>"Pants down, Isaiah."</p><p>"No, no please, please daddy, not that, anything but that."</p><p><em>"Down, </em>Isaiah."</p><p>He sniffles, nodding lightly at his order, and reaches down for the button of his jeans. He takes his time, moving as slowly as he can, and shimmies his pants down.</p><p>"Drawers too."</p><p>The Nephilim whines softly, biting his lip as he curls his fingers around the waist band of his boxers, and pushes them down slightly.</p><p>"Hands on the desk."</p><p>He nods again, leaning forward to rest his hands on top of his father's desk, curled tightly into fists, and prepares himself for the worst.</p><p>Despite his best preparations, he can't prepare himself for the loud <em>thwack </em>of his father's wooden staff striking his bottom, and it doesn't stop the scream erupting from him as he jumps forward against the edge of the desk. It whistles as it swings back and then back around, and he screams again when it makes impact, bouncing lightly in place. His father is a strict disciplinarian, he doesn't hold his punches, and he never takes it too far, he's a pretty fair guy.</p><p>Seven <em>thwacks </em>in and he's a sobbing mess, full on tears and snot smeared over his warm face, eyes puffy and swollen, his hands pressed to his mouth, when the last three <em>thwacks </em>hit their mark, then they stop. He hears his father moving, over the sound of his own roaring sobs, and then the warm presence returns behind him, large strong hands curl around his the band of his boxers first, pulling them back up, then around the waist of his jeans, pulling those up too, and fingers curl around his arms as he's pulled around.</p><p>They make to pull him into an embrace, but he dives forward, burying his face in his father's chest, holding on as tight as he can manage. Arms curl around him tightly, fingers thread between the curls on the back of his head, scratching softly at his scalp, and his father lets him sob into his chest, stuttering out apologies and promises.</p><p>"Yes, yes, I forgive you." The Archangel scratches lightly at the back of his head, he looks down when he feels pressure on his boots, and smiles, his son's standing on his feet, and he sways them around softly. "You're alright, there, there."</p><p>He sniffles, his sobs dying down, and he looks up at his father. His eyes are back to normal, their soft emerald green, and he sniffles miserably. "I'm sorry, daddy."</p><p>"I know you are, my boy, I know." He strokes a finger down his nose. "Don't you ever do that again."</p><p>He shakes his head. "Never daddy, never ever."</p><p>"Good boy." The Archangel walks them gently around the side of his desk, and sits in his chair, pulling the Nephilim down to rest on his lap lightly. "You'll stay with me for the next week."</p><p>"Am..Am I grounded too?"</p><p>"Yes, you're most certainly grounded too."</p>
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<a name="section0014"><h2>14. The Shot Of A Gun</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He hisses, clutching at his hand, as he walks into his fathers Infirmary, he can hear it now, the lecture, the scolding, the tongue lashing, it rings in his ears, he <em>hear </em>it. Oh, it's going to be bad, he's really done it this time, he's gone over that unspoken line.</p><p>"Isa, what did you do?" Akriel appears in front of him, curling his fingers around his left wrist, pulling his right hand away, his eyes widening as he lifts his injured hand, looking at him through the hole in his palm. "What on earth?"</p><p>"Um, it's a long story."</p><p>"Sure," he tugs him forward, holding his hand up, to keep the bleeding at a minimum. "I'm sure your father can make the time to listen to it."</p><p>He gulps, he'd been hoping that one of his brothers would treat him, but he should have known, they usually took him to his father, it wasn't fair, but then he knew life wasn't fair either.</p><p>His father looks up at their approach, and he hears him heave a sigh, closing his journal lightly, he pushes it away as he turns his chair to the side, gesturing for him to step around. Akriel tugs him around to stand before the Archangel, and Raphael takes his left wrist into his grasp, pulling his hand closer, looking at him through the hole in his palm. "What happened here?"</p><p>"It's a long story."</p><p>"I've always got time to hear your '<em>stories</em>'."</p><p>Isa grimaces. "Me and Danny were playing Russian roulette."</p><p>The Archangel heaves another exasperated sigh, gesturing for his Virtue to pull up a chair for his son, and Akriel nods, sliding one over, Isa sits as he's expected to. "Keep your hand up." He nods, watching his dad turn to the other side, pulling the middle left drawer open, and reaches inside. He pulls out a dark bottle, a rag, a shot, gauze pads, and a swath of bandages, then he turns back to him.</p><p>First he takes the shot, Isa whines softly, he doesn't like shots, usually his dad gave him his shots in the butt, because he gained some sort of sick amusement from his pain, he was sure of it, his dad was a cruel being. "I was going to give you this one in the hand, but if you prefer the rear, I would be happy to oblige, and be that <em>cruel </em>being." He looks up, eyes widening, and his dad stares at him, his emerald green eyes shining lightly. "You're projecting your thoughts rather loudly."</p><p>He cringes. "Sorry, dad."</p><p>"It is alright," he looks back down to his palm, squeezing his wrist firmly when he slides the needle in, offering some semblance of comfort. "I know how painful shots in the rear are. It's my way of giving recompence for your wild adventures and insane ideas." He pulls the needle out and sets the shot aside, reaching for the bottle, he pulls the cap off, and cradles his hand in his own. "What I gave you should numb your palm, but this still might sting a bit, just as fair warning."</p><p>The Nephilim boy nods, clenching his eyes closed, he doesn't want to see it when it happens. He yelps, when he pours a bit of the liquid inside the bottle over the hole in his palm.</p><p>"It didn't hit anything vital, of which you are lucky." He curls his fingers around the boy's wrist when his hand jerks, undoubtedly from pain. "You'll maintain full function of your hand." He uses the rag to dab up the blood and disinfectant. "Keep your eyes closed, I'm going to stitch the holes closed."</p><p>His son nods, thanking him softly for the warning, and curls his other arm around his eyes, just in case they were to open on their own accord out of pure curiosity. He whines when he feels the prick of the needle, and the tug of the thread, in his palm, his hand twitches, but he knows to remain as still as possible, he's had his fair share of stitches, one would think he'd be used to the feeling now.</p><p>He's not.</p><p>His head feels funny, it feels foggy, his tongue feels like it's made of lead, it's filling his entire mouth.</p><p>This always happens. He's really not good when it comes to needles. <em>Even</em> if he can't see them.</p><p>"Dad…Dad I don't feel so good."</p><p>The Archangel ties off the string of the stitches on his palm and sets his needle down. "Alright, careful, focus on your breathing." He stands from his chair, leaning over at his son's side, slips his left arm under his knees, and his right arm around his shoulders, he lifts him from his chair, cradling him in his arms, he steps out from behind his desk and carries him over to lay on a bed, resting his head back on the pillow. He's a tad rough around the edges, but he always takes care of his patients, even the ones such as his son, the <em>trying </em>one. (He wasn't fooling anyone, least of all himself, he adored his son, he'd do anything to make him as comfortable as possible.)</p><p>"How are you feeling?"</p><p>Isa licks his lips lightly, opening his eyes, they're a tad hazy, his face has taken on an ashen hue. "I feel dizzy and lightheaded."</p><p>The Healer nods, reaching over for the pillow on the bed next to them, and lifts his legs to slide it under his knees. "Just focus on your breathing. I'll finish the other side as quick as I can."</p><p>Isa nods, watching his dad leave for a moment to retrieve his needle, and threads it once more as he makes his way back to his side, sitting in the rolling chair next to his bed, he scoots in close, turning his hand over, resting it on his stomach, he sticks the needle in and pulls it through, curls it back around to the other side, pulling the needle through, he pulls the thread through and pulls the two edges of skin together.</p><p>He lasts for maybe a moment and then darkness overcomes him.</p><p>
  <em>"Isa…..Isa….My son…..Isa….Wake up….Come on…Isa…."</em>
</p><p>Somethings patting his cheek lightly, and he smacks his dry lips, his mouth is a desert. "D..Dad…Wha' h'ppen'd?"</p><p>His vision slowly clears, and his senses slowly return to him, something cool is laying over his forehead, and he stares up at his father. Raphael smiles down at him, rubbing his cheek with his fingers, reaching up to press his hand over the cloth around his forehead. "You passed out."</p><p>"Mmmm…..S'rry…."</p><p>"It's alright, no need to apologize, it happens." He dabs another cool cloth over his warm cheeks. "How do you feel?"</p><p>"Mmm…Hot….Thirsty…"</p><p>"You'll cool down in a few minutes." His dad turns, reaching for a glass of orange liquid on the bedside table, and lifts his head slightly. "Take small gentle sips, no gulping, you could upset your belly."</p><p>He nods, curling his lips around the edge of the glass, and takes a small sip, swallowing thickly, he takes another sip, this one goes down much easier than the first. "One more." He nods, taking one more sip, this one has no trouble going down when he swallows. "Good, you rest here for a bit, I'll go check on a few things, and return to check on you, alright?"</p><p>The boy nods. "Is it okay if I fall asleep?"</p><p>He nods, brushing his curls back, setting the cloth back around his forehead. "Yes, that's alright."</p><p>"Okay, dad."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. A Late Morning</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Good morning, Isa.” The young Nephilim waves to the oldest Archangel in greeting, Michael smiles at him, sipping from a steaming mug of coffee. “Looking for your father?”</p><p>“Mhmm.” He nods, pausing in the entrance of the hall. “Is he in his room?”</p><p>“Yes, he was up rather late last night, I believe he is still sleeping.” The oldest Archangel hums into his mug. “Are you going to wake your father, Isaiah?”</p><p>“No way,” Isa shakes his head, then he nods, which turns into a shrug. “Maybe for a minute, I just need to ask him something.”</p><p>“Oh, maybe I can help?”</p><p>“Nope.” He shakes his head and turns down the hall. “Thanks, Uncle Michael.”</p><p>He comes to the Healer’s room quickly, and turns to face the door, reaching for the door handle, he twists it, pushing the door open. There’s a mound in his dad’s bed, under the blankets, a dark hand rests just within line of sight, limp, his dad’s still sleeping. He looks around his dad’s room from the doorway, spotting what he came for, and tiptoes in, watching the gentle rise and fall of the mound, mindful of any breaking in the rhythm or movement in that hand he sees. As he crosses the room, he sees his dad’s face, his eyes closed, expression peaceful, sound asleep.</p><p>The Nephilim reaches out for the length of wood, the staff of Raphael, he’ll have it back before he even notices it was gone.</p><p>“Isaiah, no.”</p><p>He jumps around, expecting to see his dad’s emerald eyes watching him, but he hasn’t moved a muscle. His eyes are still closed, his expression still peaceful, hand still exactly where he saw it last. “Dad?” He gets nothing. Crossing over, he comes to stand at his dad’s bedside, leaning over, he curls his fingers around that hand, and tugs lightly. “Dad?”</p><p>“Mmmm?”</p><p>“Dad, can I borrow your staff?”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>He bites his lip and tugs on his hand again. “Can I borrow your bow?”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“Aww!” Isa tugs on his dad’s hand again. “Please, dad?”</p><p>“No.” His dad’s fingers curl around his hand and he tugs him forward slightly. “Come here.” Isa huffs, but steps forward, letting himself be pulled down into his dad’s bed. Sliding under the blankets, he settles in next to him, he let’s go of his hand to curl his arm around his waist and pull him closer, warm lips press against his forehead for a moment. “Sleep with me.”</p><p>“But dad, I’m not tired.”</p><p>He looks up when his arm moves, his hand reaching up, his dad’s large hand curls over his forehead, and he’s washed in it. That warm tingly feeling he gets when his dad uses his grace on him, it’s there for only a moment, then it moves, his arm curling back around his waist.</p><p>Isa yawns. “That’s cheating.”</p><p>“Tired, now?”</p><p>He yawns again, pressing in closer, his dad’s always so warm. “You’re a cheater.”</p><p>Raphael smiles above his son’s head when he feels him cuddle in closer, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Sleep with me?”</p><p>“Yea, daddy,” Isa closes his eyes, pressing his ear to his dad’s chest, listening to his heart beat. “I’ll sleep with you.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Mess With The Son, Face The Father</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He yelps as his knife is kicked from his hand, sliding across the floor, out of his reach, and rushes to his feet. He ducks under a punch aimed at his face, ducking under the arm, grabbing the wrist on his way around, and presses to their back for a brief moment, yanking their arm back, there’s a sickening crack and the they howl in pain, he jumps away as they spins around, their right arm hanging limply, useless to them. He dives for his knife, grunting when another stomps down on his hand, he grits his teeth when he hears his fingers crack, ignoring the broken bones, he reaches for his knife with his other hand, rolling over as he slashes it over their Achilles tendon, they howl and collapse to the floor, clutching at their leg.</p><p>He’d been minding his own business, slurping on a slushie and reading a comic book, when these two <em>numbskulls</em> came at him, guns blazing, spitting the word abomination at him. Hunters, he knew their type, they must be new to the game, most hunters recognized him, the one thing he can thank the stupidly codependent Winchesters for, most knew who his father was, one of Heaven’s most terrifying weapons (he’s a big softie, don’t let him fool you, in his opinion, anyway).</p><p>They’d torn his comic in the scuffle, the newest one of his favorite series, and made him spill his slushie. He’d tried backing away from the fight, his dad didn’t like it when he messed with the humans, telling them to leave him alone, and the one, he’s calling him <em>‘Bob’ </em>had shot him in the shoulder, would have been the head, if he hadn’t seen the level of the gun and ducked out of the way.</p><p>“You little shit!” <em>‘Bob’ </em>snarls at him, raising his gun again, and he takes the chance, this is his last knife, the others are scattered around this place, but he throws it, expertly, he’s an excellent marksman, and <em>‘Bob’ </em>yells and curses when the knife pierces through his palm, dropping his gun. “You little <em>fuck</em>!”</p><p>He takes that as his opening, darting forward, he reels his arm back, and plows his fist into his stomach, climbing up on his shoulders, using his knee as leverage when he folds over on himself, and curls his legs around his neck, pressing his hands to either side of his head. Electricity courses over him, tingling over his skin, through his fingers, and the man shakes under him, electrocuted. Hunter types are hard to take down though, as he’s well aware of, and <em>‘Bob’ </em>bends forward, the fingers of his good hand curling into his curls, he grimaces, tightening his grip with his legs, but with one sharp tug, a sharp cry as curls are yanked harshly, he flips over the man’s head, and lands on his back with a loud thump.</p><p>He wheezes, his vision going blurry for a moment, his back <em>hurts, </em>groaning when a steel toe boot kicks into his ribs relentlessly. He goes cross-eyed as <em>‘Bob’ </em>pulls a Glock from behind him, probably stuck in the back of his belt, and points it between his eyes.</p><p>He knows a losing battle when he sees one, he’s not one to do this, but he knows when he’s in a tough spot, one that he can’t get out of on his own, so he does the only thing that comes to his mind.</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>“DAD!”</em>
  </strong>
</p><p><em>‘Bob’ </em>smirks down at him. “Eat lead, you little fuck.”</p><p>He clenches his eyes closed, he doesn’t want to see it, and sends a quick <em>‘I love you’ </em>to his dad.</p><p>Thunder makes the ground shake under him, a bright bolt of lightning illuminates behind his eyelids, and he hears a gag, a clatter as something heavy hits the ground, something metal. He opens his eyes, smiling, at the person standing over him, dark arm outstretched, dark fingers curled around his assaulter’s neck, <em>‘Bob’ </em>dangling from their grasp, kicking and gagging and wheezing, fingers curled around their wrist tightly.</p><p>He laughs softly, then groans, and curls his arms around himself.</p><p>“Isa, are you alright?”</p><p>The Nephilim nods slightly, rolling over onto his side, and groans again. “My ribs and back hurt, daddy.”</p><p>“You assaulted <em>my </em>son.” His fingers squeeze tighter, and the hunter in his grasp kicks slightly, gagging. “Have you a <em>death wish</em>?”</p><p>“A—Abom—Abomin—Abomination!” <em>‘Bob’ </em>spits. “M—Mon—Monster! K—Kill—Killed!”</p><p>Emerald eyes look down at him, and he turns his head, there’s a hint of concern in them. “Isaiah, have you killed anyone?”</p><p>“No….I was just minding my own….Had a slushie and was reading a comic book….Came outta nowhere……Spilled my slushie…..Tore my comic book……Man……It was getting so good too….”</p><p>“I will get you a new slushie and comic book, my child.” Those emerald eyes turn from him to his attacker, <em>‘Bob’</em> is starting to look red in the face, and he whimpers softly. “You <em>attacked </em>my <em>son</em>.” He squeezes tighter and <em>‘Bobs’ </em>eyes bug out. “I could break your neck, crush it in my hand, and think nothing of it.”</p><p>Isa groans as he pushes himself up, using his dad’s pant leg to pull himself to his feet, curls the fingers of his right hand in the back of his leather jacket, leaning around him. “You’re <em>soooo </em>dead, ‘<em>Bob’</em>.” He grins at him, laughs softly, and groans again as he does. “You’ve done awakened the <em>dragon</em>.” He reaches around, pressing a hand to his dad’s chest, smiling lightly. “Do you know who <em>he </em>is?”</p><p><em>‘Bob’ </em>shakes his head as best as he can, and gags, looking back to the one holding him, when the fingers around his neck squeeze again. “Allow me to introduce myself, my name is Raphael.”</p><p>Isa smiles, resting his head against his dad’s arm. “Raphael, the <em>Archangel</em>.”</p><p>“Yes,” the Archangel nods, when <em>‘Bobs’ </em>eyes widen, perhaps in horror, or in response to the fingers around his throat tightening. “You <em>assaulted </em>the <em>son </em>of an <em>Archangel</em>.” He pulls the hunter closer, raising him up, to meet him eye to eye. “Had you have <em>shot </em>my son in the head, I would have made you <em>beg </em>me for death, and me, being the <em>vengeful father</em>, would <em>never</em> give in to your begging, you would have suffered, not enough to kill you, no, I’d have wanted you to suffer as much as possible, for a long, <em>long </em>while.” He jerks his head around. “Look at him, <em>memorize </em>his face, I want you to pass along a little message for me, can you do that?” <em>‘Bob’ </em>nods weakly, gagging and wheezing, his fingers curled tightly around the Archangel’s wrist. “Good, I want you to tell every hunter you come across, <em>every </em>single one, that if they even <em>think </em>to harm this boy, they will deal with <em>me</em>. Do you understand?”</p><p><em>‘Bob’ </em>nods feverishly, Isa ducks under his dad’s arm, curling around his front. “Daddy, I don’t feel good, can we go home?”</p><p>The hunter gags and wheezes, choking for a breath, as he drops to the ground in a heap. The Nephilim sighs softly when he feels arms curl around him, a hand pressing to the side of his head, rubbing soothingly. “Yes, my child, we can go home.”</p><p>…</p><p>“Easy, easy.” Raphael eases his son down to sit on the edge of an empty bed. “Let’s get your top off, and I’ll take a look at the damage.”</p><p>Isa nods, raising his arms slightly, wincing at the ache in his ribs, his dad coos softly, calming him, as he eases his t-shirt up over his head. He watches his dad set his shirt aside, and he squats in front of him, raising his arm slightly, feeling his ribs gently, humming softly when he whines and leans away. “A few are most certainly broken.”</p><p>The Nephilim looks down. “Can you just heal them or do I have to wait for them to heal on their own?”</p><p>“Just this once,” he spares him a glance, and curls his large warm hand around his ribs, Isa shifts when he feels the familiar warm tingly grace soak into his skin. “I’ll heal them for you.” He shivers, smiling, his dad’s grace always kind of tickles, part of him thinks his dad knows that, it swirls around his back, soaking up the ache, leaving it feeling as good as new again, his dad frowns slightly. “You made no mention of the hole in your shoulder nor the broken fingers. No matter, I’ll heal those too.”</p><p>Isa giggles softly when he feels his dad’s grace swirl around his belly, and curls his arms around himself, looking up at the sound of his father chuckling softly. “Dad! Not cool!”</p><p>The Archangel yelps lightly when the boy jumps at him, knocking him backwards, off his feet, and his deep laughter mixes with the boy’s light laughter</p><p>Isa presses his hands to his dad’s chest, as his arms curl around him, laughing lightly. “You’re a jerk, dad!”</p><p>Raphael chuckles softly, digging his fingers in the Nephilim’s sides, the boy shrieks brightly and curls forward, trying to get away, but he’s well and truly captured, and he squirms, falling forward against him, laughing brightly as fingers assault his sides. “I’m a very big jerk, aren’t I?”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. Consequences For The Offender</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Isa gulps when they appear in his dad’s office, the door closed, probably locked, it’s locked with his grace, he won’t be able to open it, no matter how much he pulls, he knows this, he’s tested it. He’s dragged forward, towards the edge of the desk, his dad says not a word, that’s how he knows he’s really mad, he’s really, <em>really </em>mad. “Dad?”</p><p>“Be silent, Isaiah.”</p><p>His mouth closes with a soft pop, and he’s tugged around to stand before the desk, his father a warm presence behind him. “What were you doing when I called for you?”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“You heard me just fine, Isaiah, what sort of trouble were you getting into?”</p><p>He bites his lip. “What makes you think I was getting into trouble?” The Nephilim yelps when a heavy hand smacks down on his rear, and hops forward just a step, reaching back to cover his bottom with his hands. “Can we please keep our hands to ourselves?” He yelps again when that same hand smacks him over the back of the head. “I guess not.”</p><p>“You’re already in deep, <em>deep</em> trouble. I’d be mindful, if I were you, unless you want to dig your grave deeper and deeper.” He feels his dad’s breath over his ear when he leans over, hovering just over his shoulder, and he shivers slightly. “Answer the question, Isaiah.”</p><p>“I don’t know if I want to.” He bites his lip. “For my own wellbeing.”</p><p>“Isaiah Ishmael Mostafa, answer the question.”</p><p>Isa curls his fingers in the sides of his pants, nodding slightly, looking down at his feet. “I was selling marijuana to some kid.”</p><p>“You’re <em>sixteen</em>, where did <em>you </em>get marijuana?”</p><p>“Umm….From some guy I know.”</p><p>He feels his dad exhale a long breath. “Have you ever partaken in the use of marijuana from this individual?”</p><p>“Umm…..Maybe?”</p><p>“Isaiah.”</p><p>The Nephilim nods slightly. “Yes, sir.”</p><p>“I see, have you ever partaken in anything else this person has supplied?”</p><p>He bites his lips harshly, but nods, he does <em>not </em>want to dig his grave any deeper. “Yes, sir.”</p><p>“I see, tell me Isaiah, what else have you taken from this individual?”</p><p>“Ummm….”</p><p>“If you know what’s good for you, child, you will answer my question.”</p><p>Isa licks his lips. “Vicodin, OxyContin, Adderall, marijuana, K2 and Spice, heroin, Ecstasy, LSD, Crystal Meth, and cocaine.”</p><p>“<em>Isaiah Ishmael Mostafa.</em>” He jumps again when a heavy hand smacks his bottom. “Just because you won’t fall into addiction nor overdose, that your grace will neutralize the affects after a given amount of time, does <em>not </em>mean you can ingest those substances.” He squeezes his shoulders lightly. “I assume you can imagine how much trouble you are in?”</p><p>He nods lightly. “Big trouble.”</p><p>“<em>Very </em>big trouble.” He feels his dad straighten up again. “You will stay at my side for some time to come, within my sight, until I can trust you to be on your own again.”</p><p>The Nephilim looks down to his feet, feeling a tear trail down his cheek, and he reaches up to wipe it away. “Yes, sir.” His voice cracks softly, he’s disappointed his dad, that’s <em>worse</em> then making him angry, disappointing his dad is worse then anything, any kind of punishment he could face, he hates disappointing his dad. Another tear slips down his cheek. “I’m sorry, daddy, I’m sorry.” He wipes away another tear. “I’m such a disappointment. I’m a bad son. You deserve better than me.”</p><p>“Now, now, my little one.” Fingers curl around his shoulders and turn him around. “You are <em>never </em>a disappointment. Sometimes you do disappointment me, but that doesn’t <em>make </em>you a disappointment. I would have no one else as my son, no one but you, I love you with all my heart, without you, I am nothing.” A finger under his chin lifts his head up and he looks into his dad’s soft eyes. “You hold my heart in your hands, little one, no matter what you do, no matter what trouble you may get into, I will always love you, unconditionally, forever and always.” He sighs softly, caressing his cheek, he keeps his eyes locked with his dad’s, and blinks lightly. “Perhaps, it is partially my fault as well, I was rather neglectful in your younger years, I did not watch you as much as I should, I would have never have allowed you to get into such trouble had I given you more attention, and for that, I am sorry.”</p><p>“It’s not your fault, daddy, I’m just bad, I’m a bad person, a bad son, I’m bad.”</p><p>“Now, you stop that nonsense, and you stop it right this instant.” A finger taps his lips and his dad shakes his head lightly. “You are <em>not </em>bad. You do wrong, yes, you get into trouble, but so has everyone else, oh, the trouble I’d get into when I was your age.”</p><p>“Y—You got into trouble too?”</p><p>“Oh, loads of trouble, I was a big troublemaker.”</p><p>“<em>You</em>?”</p><p>Raphael chuckles softly, nodding lightly. “Yes, me.”</p><p>“<em>Wow</em>! I never would have guessed!”</p><p>The Archangel shakes his head fondly. “Now, on to your punishment—”</p><p>“Dad, it happened so long ago, I’ll never do it again, do we have to?”</p><p>“Isaiah.” He tilts his head downwards, his tone stern, and the Nephilim bites his lip.</p><p>“Yes, sir.”</p><p>He nods again. “How many mugshots?”</p><p>Isa bites his lip. “Fifty-four.”</p><p>“Alright—”</p><p>“Please, dad, please, not fifty-four wallops, that’s too much, that—that’s too much!”</p><p>“I would <em>never </em>wallop you that many times, I am strict, but I am <em>not </em>abusive. Any parent who would wallop their child that many times has no place for parenting nor for freedom.” He pets his curls back. “Lets see, half of that is twenty-seven—”</p><p>
  <em>“Twenty-seven!”</em>
</p><p>The Archangel gives him a look. “Boy, you had best stop interrupting me.”</p><p>Isa bites his lip, squeaking softly. “Sorry, daddy.”</p><p>“Now, as I was saying, twenty-seven is a bit high, I will not wallop you that many times. Twenty sounds like a good number.” He nods lightly. “Twenty sounds very well.” He nods to the side. “Isa, go get my staff.”</p><p>He’s relieved to be called that name again, it means his dad forgives him, that he’s not angry anymore. Isa nods, silently parting from his side, crossing silently for the smooth staff that rests against the wall behind hid dad’s desk, he’s resigned himself for this, but that doesn’t stop him from dragging his feet, taking his time, his dad says nothing on it, he waits patiently.</p><p>But soon, he returns to stand before his father, and passes him his staff when he holds his hand out for it.</p><p>“Thank you,” he waves a few fingers around. “Bare yourself and over the edge of the desk.”</p><p>The Nephilim nods silently, turning to face his dads desk, he shimmies his joggers down, then his boxers, and reaches out with his hands, pressing them over the middle of the desk, bending over the edge, and curls his fingers into fists, as he waits on baited breath for the first of twenty wallops.</p><p>The first one cracks against his bottom, and he shrieks, jumping forward, he resists the urge to throw his hands back, that only makes it worse. The second one makes him shriek, the third too, the fourth forces a sob from him, the fifth makes him bounce and shriek. He does that with the next seven, sobbing and shrieking. He’s howling and sobbing through the last eight, tears and snot streaming down his face, his knuckles a pale white from the intensity of his gripped fists, he knows it’s over, and he straightens, his hands flying back to his heated bottom, rubbing miserably as he bounces up and down. He sees his dad rest his staff against the edge of his desk, and large warm fingers curl first around the waist band of his boxers, pulls them up, and then his joggers. Those fingers curl around his arms and turn him around, then they curl under his arms, he hops up, curling his arms around his dad’s neck as he’s lifted up into his arms, quite easily, his dad is <em>super </em>strong, and buries his face in his shoulder, smearing tears and snot into the shoulder of his dad’s shirt. But he knows he doesn’t mind, he wouldn’t hold him like this if he did, so he knows there’s nothing to worry about.</p><p>Raphael rubs at the distraught boy’s back soothingly, leaning back against the edge of his desk, humming softly, waiting patiently for the sobs to calm down. They calm slowly, and the boy turns his head, resting his head on his shoulder, his small wheezing breaths ghosts over the side of his neck, and he hums when he feels the tension slowly leave the small teenager, the grip around his neck loosening, and straightens up when he feels him slip off into peaceful sleep.</p><p>Curling both of his arms under him, he steps forward, opening the door with his right hand, curling his right arm back under him as he makes his way down the hall to the floor. He’s not concerned about his son waking up, Isa is a deep sleeper, only that of an explosion would rouse him from sleep, or a quick flutter of fingers over his belly, he’s rather talented at waking the boy from his deep slumber.</p><p>The Healer sees the chart resting on his desk, and leans over, pulling it open, tilting his head as he reads through the notes. He’d have to address this sooner rather then later, he loath to put the boy down, especially while he’s sleeping so peacefully, so he moves him to rest on his hip, curling his left arm under him, and picks up the chart with his right hand, looking over the heads of his healers for the one he needs, their eyes meet, and he raises the chart for them to see, they nod, and make their way through the crowd.</p><p>“Oren, what is this?”</p><p>The Virtues Captain nods his head to the chart, slipping his hands into his pockets, leaning forward. “Tagas’s chart.”</p><p>“He has a chart?”</p><p>“I wouldn’t say that those few pages constitute that as a chart, but go off, I guess.”</p><p>Raphael levels a look at him, he’s been around his teenage son long enough to know what that means and waves the chart at him. “I assume you wanted me to see it, as is the reason you set it on my desk, what was the purpose, you are more then able to care for him.”</p><p>Oren nods at the chart. “Read the third page.”</p><p>Raising an eyebrow, the Archangel flips the chart open, turning over to the third page, and his eyes skim over the writing quickly, and raises an eyebrow. “He refused to allow the attending healer to see to his wings.”</p><p>“He did, read on.”</p><p>He does as requested. “He left feathers behind in his wake, <em>before </em>his molt, denied the healer’s request to check the state of his wings, and soon after he disappeared, when the attending healer was otherwise distracted.” He hums deeply, turning the page, humming again when that reveals that the third page is the last page. “And, the attending healer did nothing to seek him out once more, wings are a very important matter, if there is any inclination of injury or wound, they are to seek them out immediately.”</p><p>“Well, seeing as that’s the last page in his <em>‘chart’</em>,” the Virtue makes quotation marks with his fingers. “I’d say they did not.”</p><p>“This is most concerning, thank you, I will most certainly address this immediately.”</p><p>Oren nods, bowing slightly, it’s more of a cheeky action then anything, and he smacks him on the head with the chart, the younger angel has the audacity to laugh softly, he smiles though, it’s all in good humor. “What happened here?” He nods to the Nephilim, sleeping peacefully on the Archangel’s shoulder.</p><p>Raphael looks over to his son’s peaceful face, pressing his lips to his warm nose, rubbing his free hand over the back of his head. “There was some things that needed to be addressed, they were, and we are moving on from them.”</p><p>“Ah, I see, you found out about his past?”</p><p>He flits around to stare at his Virtue, Oren smiles at him. “You <em>knew </em>and didn’t <em>tell </em>me?”</p><p>“I didn’t <em>know</em>, but I had an inkling, he was being much too secretive when he came to visit. I thought you’d noticed too.”</p><p>The Archangel feels a slight sense of shame settle over him, he had not, admittedly, he hadn’t paid the boy much attention through that time, Michael had just locked Lucifer in the cage, Heaven needed someone to lead, Castiel had upped his uppity behavior, and admittedly, the boy had fallen on the back burner.</p><p>“I’m not trying to place blame on anyone,” Oren’s voice pulls him from his thoughts. “But I can’t help but wonder, if all the trouble I’m sure he got into, was just a ploy to try and get your attention.”</p><p>“Not to place blame, huh?”</p><p>“I’m not, honestly, I know how much you had on your plate at that time, none of that was easy on any of us, let alone you and Michael.” He rubs at his beard lightly. “But there were times he’d sit here at your desk and you gave no acknowledgement to him being there, even bad attention is better than no attention.”</p><p>“I was extremely neglectful, I am ashamed of myself,” he presses his lips to the tip of that warm nose again. “Never again. This boy means the world to me, I should not have allowed myself to become so distracted that I simply forgot about him, I will never forgive myself for that.”</p><p>“Don’t be too hard on yourself, Raph, you’re not the only one who did, admittedly, we’re all guilty of that misdeed.”</p><p>“Yes, that may be.” He turns his attention back to the Virtue before him, leaning his head to the side, resting against the boy’s. “But I am the one who is his father.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. Prison Break</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Hey dudes.” Isa waves at the three of them as they enter to room, sipping on the slushie in his hand, the three adults freeze at his appearance. “How’s it shakin?”</p><p>“Isa?” Sam Winchester steps forward, pausing at the sight of the other two, one, sitting on the edge of the alter, sipping at a big gulp soda, and another, the second, a blonde, leaning back against the edge of the alter, tossing a knife up and down with his right hand. “Who are you?”</p><p>The blonde boy raises his hand slightly, curls bouncing as he looks up at him, waving a few fingers. “Adam.”</p><p>The dark-haired boy on the alter waves a few fingers at him, pulling the straw out of his mouth. “Austin.”</p><p>Isa takes a big gulp and swallows. “They’re my cousins.”</p><p>“<em>Cousins?”</em></p><p>“What are you brats doing here?” Lilith steps forward, glaring at the three teenagers, they were interrupting their plans. “We have plans here. You need to leave.”</p><p>“Trying to spring Uncle Luci from the cage, right?” Austin kicks his legs slightly. “Yea, no, no offence to little bow peep and she-hulk there, but we’re high jacking this jail break.”</p><p>Sam feels mildly offended.</p><p>Adam steps forward, flipping the knife in his hand around, curling his fingers around the handle. “But we do appreciate you coming Lilith, we needed you, and you saved us <em>so </em>much <em>effort</em>.”</p><p>“Wait, wait, let Lucifer out of the cage?” Sam Winchester waves his hands, pausing all conversation, eyes turn to him. “Why are we letting Lucifer out of the cage?”</p><p>Isa interrupted Ruby before she could get a word in. “So, we thought, Uncle Micha and Uncle Luci just need to hug it out, make amends, they’re both right and they’re both wrong, just hug it out like two bros.”</p><p>“Just…Hug it out.”</p><p>Austin nods. “Yep.” He sets his cup down on the alter and hops down, walking forward calmly, reaching out to catch Lilith by the hair. “Sorry, lady, but you’ve got to die.”</p><p>Adam grins as his cousin drags the demon across the room. “A few last words before she passes?”</p><p>The Healer’s son raises his cup slightly. “What a bitch!”</p><p>“Hear! Hear!”</p><p>Austin deposits the demon in front of his blonde cousin, and Adam smiles, pulling her around, as the other boy returns to his seat on the alter, taking his soda back up, sipping at it once more.</p><p>“Sorry, not sorry.” Adam slices the demons throat, from ear to ear, and Lilith falls over dead. “Well, that was anticlimactic.”</p><p>Ruby presses a hand to her mouth in awe, Sam watches in horror, as the blood from the first demon glided across the floor gracefully and began to draw out the intricate design of the lock for Lucifer’s cage. Adam grinned triumphantly, bumping fists with his two cousins, stepping back to lean against the edge of the alter once more.</p><p>A bright light began to bubble from the center of the swirling blood. Dean burst through the door in the next moment, Sam turned away, driving a blade into the demon’s chest.</p><p>Adam reached for his cousins cup to take a sip.</p><p>Dean turned to his brother after he’d been filled in on the entire situation. “Wait, so you’re telling me, that they let the devil out of the box, because they think Michael and Lucifer need to <em>‘hug it out’</em>?”</p><p>Sam nods incredulously.</p><p>The blonde boy turns to look at them. “Okay, first off, it’s rude to talk about people like they’re not there, when they’re literally right next to you. Secondly, I haven’t gotten to see my dad for as long as I can remember, excuse me, for trying to bring my family back together.”</p><p>Isa raises his cup again. “Preach it, brother.”</p><p>“Wait, <em>‘dad’</em>, your dad is <em>Lucifer</em>?”</p><p>Adam nods, curls bouncing. “Antichrist, at your service.”</p><p>A bright light filled the room, and they all had to look away, it became blindingly bright, a loud roaring filled the empty space, like that of a large beast being freed from it’s confinement.</p><p>Adam clapped his hands when the light became more bearable, looking back in it’s direction, smiling and bouncing slightly in excitement.</p><p>Austin nudges his shoulder. “I’m happy for you, bro.”</p><p>A man appears, as the light fades, blonde hair, messed up seemingly from sleep, flexing his hand slowly, as if mesmerized by it.</p><p>“Dad!”</p><p>The blonde man turns around. “Adam?”</p><p>The blonde boy darts forward, plowing into the fallen archangel’s middle, hugging his arms around him tightly. “Dad! It’s so good to see you!”</p><p>“I’m not sure how to take this change of events.” His voice is deep, gravelly even, and underneath it all there is some sort of undying power raging within. He curls his arms around the boy in turn, curling a hand around the back of his head, fingers threading through his blonde curls. “Adam, my son, how I’ve missed you.”</p><p>“Lucifer?”</p><p>The blonde man looks up, smiling at the hunters, at Sam in particular, and nods. “That’s my name.”</p><p>“Way to ruin the moment, asshole.”</p><p>“Language, little one.” Lucifer turns his attention to the other two Nephilim, both wave at him, Austin blushes at the light scolding, and he hums deeply. “Did you three let me out?”</p><p>Isa nods, pulling his drink away. “You and Uncle Micha need to hug it out, man, hug it out like bros.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0019"><h2>19. What Doesn't Belong To Us</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Using the staff is like using an extension of himself, it’s fluid, his power flows through the wood completely, conducting on the metal ends, blue electricity blurs as he spins it around, jamming the bottom end into the hell knights chest, they jolt back, chest smoking from the heat.</p><p>“You little angel brat!”</p><p>The hell knight charges, and he charges in turn, using the staff as a pole vault, jumping up, he uses the hell knights shoulders as a brace, as he jumps, spinning around, he swings the staff around, it cracks loudly against the demons head.</p><p>He lands in a crouch, holding the staff in his right hand, his power flowing through his veins, his electric blue eyes shining, electricity courses over his body. “I’m an <em>Archangel </em>brat! Get it right! <em>Come</em> on!”</p><p>His opponent snarls, twins blades shining from the glow of the electricity, and he straightens, curling both hands around the staff, falling into his stance once more. They both charge at the same time, the demon nicks his arm, it tears his jacket, and he whines, because, dammit, this is his favorite jacket, and he sweeps her off her feet. She turns as she falls, kicking her boot up, and the boot connects with the staff in his hands, kicking it out of his hands, he watches as he sails over his head with wide eyes. “Shit, shit, shit! I <em>can’t</em> lose that!” He scrambles forward, to retrieve his <em>stolen </em>weapon, and a boot smashes between his shoulders, sending him careening forward, he crashes into a row of trash cans, overshooting the staff by at least a mile (not really, but you get the point).</p><p><em>Metal </em>trash cans.</p><p>Pushing himself to his feet, he watches in horror as the hell knight surges forward for the legendary staff, he <em>cannot </em>let that fall into her hands, he <em>cannot </em>lose that staff, he <em>cannot </em>afford to die because he <em>lost </em>the staff, and he <em>would </em>die, he’d be kicking the bucket, picking daisies, meeting Great Uncle Death far too soon (and he’s not talking about their meetings where they go in search of the good eats either). Looking around him, he thinks on the fly, grabbing one of the metal trash can lids, he stares down at it for a moment. He’s seen it on tv, his favorite show, <em>‘Static Shock’, </em>good show, he enjoys it, watches it every morning with his bowl of frosted flakes, <em>mmmm frosted flakes—Isa! Stay focused!—</em>what’s the chances of it actually working. He soaks the metal lid in his power, his grace, and tosses it forward. Taking a running start, he jumps up on the metal trashcan lid, and curls his fingers around the rim, waving his other arm around to catch his balance, oh, my, god, it’s <em>working</em>.</p><p>It’s like he’s skateboarding, and he’s one hell of a skateboarder, on a hoverboard, the hell knight freezes for a moment in shock, he would have too, if he weren’t so desperate to get that staff back. He rises slightly, dipping down, and leans over, snatching the length of wood up with his free hand, he’s going over the hell knights head when he loses control, in the form of the demon smashing her swords in the metal lid, knocking it out of his grasp, and he falls forward, turning to land in a roll, but this time, this time he keeps hold of the staff.</p><p>Freaking parkour at it’s finest man, he uses his free hand to vault himself up, and he flips, landing fluidly on his feet. He twirls the staff around, resting it’s end on the ground, and gestures with his fingers. “Bring it on, bitch.”</p><p>The hell knight screams her rage and charges forward. He blinks in surprise when a trident appears in his vision, flying through the air, the center prong penetrates the hell knights throat, she chokes and gags, and is thrown back from the force of the throw, the tips of the prongs sticking into the brick wall.</p><p>A pale figure enters his vision and he turns. “Oh, hey, Uncle Luci, how’s it shakin?”</p><p>Lucifer grins down at him, ruffling his curls. “Hey, kid.”</p><p>He looks up when he feels a hand curl around his, gripping the staff, and his eyes widen at the dark appendage, golden rings on the fingers, and a <em>very </em>familiar voice rumbles behind him. “Isaiah, I believe you have something that belongs to me.”</p><p>Isa jumps around. “Oh, my, god, you weren’t supposed to get back so soon!” He rubs at the back of his head. “Hey….Uh….Dad…How was your mission?”</p><p>The Morningstar snorts softly, shaking his head in amusement, and steps forward, leaving father and son on their own, to retrieve his trident and hell knight.</p><p>Raphael smiles down at his son, leaning forward on his staff. “It went well, I had this feeling, a slight tingling in the back of my mind that said, <em>‘hmm, that troublesome son of mine is up to something’</em>, and low and behold, it was right. Did you go searching for the hell knight?”</p><p>The Nephilim shrugs lightly, scuffing his sneaker on the ground, crossing his arms behind his back, he knows he’s in trouble, he knows he’s not supposed to touch his dad’s staff. Or his bow. But, especially his staff. “I was bored, man, no one wanted to hang out. Oren and Ak said they were too busy, Eph had a headache, Zed didn’t even respond when I asked, I think he’s ignoring me for some reason, and Costa said he had too much to do. I just wanted something to do.”</p><p>“I see, you did very well, it’s always good to see you practicing your control of your power.” The Archangel dips his chin. “I was quite impressed.”</p><p>“You were?” He tilts his head. “How long were you there?”</p><p>“For a bit, you looked as though you had things handled, but your Uncle grew bored watching though, so he intervened.” Raphael nods to the metal trash can lid. “I was rather impressed at your improvisation with that trashcan lid, took a few years off my life watching you ride it, but all in all, it was very impressive.” He smiles down at the boy. “Would you give me a demonstration?”</p><p>Isa’s eyes widen, and he jumps forward, hands raised. “Really!”</p><p>“I’d love to see it again.”</p><p>“Yes!” He pumps his fist in the air, darting around, not seeing his dad’s fond smile, anything to make his child happy. “Yes, I’ll show you!”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0020"><h2>20. Die A Little</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Someone has to check to see if the ice is thick enough.” Austin drops his ice skates and hockey stick into the snow under him, leaning against the tree beside him, looking to his twin cousins. “Guys?”</p><p>“Hey, we’re not that self-sacrificing.” Jack gestures to the blonde with them. “Why doesn’t Adam do it, he burns cold.”</p><p>“Um, because I’m still susceptible to hypothermia, been there, done that, no thanks.”</p><p>Danny raises his hand slightly. “Why don’t we just throw a large rock onto the river, if it goes through then it’s not thick enough, and if it doesn’t then it’s safe.”</p><p>The Viceroy’s son shakes head. “That’d only prove that the ice is either too thin or thick enough where ever the rock lands.”</p><p>They bicker back and forth, on the matter of who should be the one to check the thickness of the ice, and the Healer’s son can only listen to it for so long, before it gets on his nerves. “Guys!” His raised voice catches their attention and they turn to look at him. “I’ll do it. Just shut up. God.” Isa shakes his head, setting his skates and hockey stick down, descending the slight incline to the rivers edge, his cousins on his heels, and they stand at the edge, it looks thick. “Welp, here goes nothing.” He steps out carefully, putting slight pressure on the ice, it makes not a sound, no give under his foot, and he steps out completely, putting all his weight on it. “Dudes, if I do fall in, you’ll get me out, right?”</p><p>Jack nods quickly. “Of course, bro.”</p><p>“Just checking.” Isa makes it out a good couple of feet safely, he’s about half way there, and they all breath a sigh of relief, it’s thick enough, their sigh of relief comes a bit too soon, as a loud pop and crackling reverberates around them. “Guys…” The Nephilim on the river stumbles, as the ice shifts under him, looking down at the large crack forming between his legs. “Guys, the ice is cracking!”</p><p>“Isa, come back!”</p><p>“Isa, run!”</p><p>Just as he takes a step, making to dart across the cracking ice, the area under him gives way, he yells, he hears his cousins shouting from the shore, as he falls back into the frigid water. The ice breaks around the center of the river, water flowing fast under the ice, and they watch on baited breath, eyes searching, for their cousin to resurface, but he doesn’t, the current’s swept him away.</p><p>“Guys! Guys, that’s thick ice right there!” Adam tugs on his cousin’s sleeve, causing Austin to stumble to the side, as he darts off further down the bank, where the ice is still solid, that’s how they know if it’s solid, somewhat, this part is the only part that’s not broken, they’re not exactly in the clear, as they skid out on the ice further down the river. “Spread out, look for him under the ice!”</p><p>They nod, darting off in different directions, falling to their knees, they brush the snow away, trying to see their missing cousin under the ice. It takes them a while, an eternity it feels like, to find him, Austin shouts in surprise, his cousin’s bright blue eyes staring up at him from under the ice, hands pressed to the bottom of the ice sheet, pounding a fist weakly against it. “Guys! Guys, he’s here!” He reels his own fist back, slamming it into the ice, utilizing as much of that Archangel Nephilim strength he can muster, his blood starts to smear across the ice as it chips away under his fist, but he keeps going, they have to get him out. “Aus, hurry! He’s not moving anymore!”</p><p>“Isa, Isa stay awake!”</p><p>Jack slides to his knees, patting the ice beside them. “Isa! Don’t close your eyes! Isa!”</p><p>Michael’s son grits his teeth as he beat his fist into the ice, he can’t stop, no matter how much it hurts. “I’m going as <em>fast </em>as I <em>can</em>!”</p><p>“Isa! Isa, no!” They watch in horror as their cousin sinks, disappearing from sight, and Austin grits his teeth as he reels his fist back, pushing everything he has into it, all his strength, all his grace, everything he can muster, and plows his fist through the remaining layer of ice. “Hurry, he’ll drown!” The twins grip the edges of the hole, breaking chunks of ice off, tossing them away, their piece doesn’t move, but the ice surrounding them cracks and breaks, their only hope of escape lost, they’re stuck, in the middle of a raging river, on a sheet of ice.</p><p>Adam tugs his coat off, then his boots, and shoves himself between the twins, diving into the frigid water. Out of all of them, he’d have the most success in retrieving their cousin, he burns the coldest. They watch on baited breath, kneeling around the hold in their ice sheet, watching the churning water for any sign of them. Minutes tick by, the twins bite their lips, Austin mumbles to himself, and then a head breaks the water, dark curls soaked and matted down, Danny curls his fingers under his cousins arms and pulls him back, out of the ice, he falls back as his cousin falls limply between his legs. Adam curls his arms over the edge of the ice, trying to pull himself up, his blonde curls darkened from the water, as matted and soaked as their cousins, Austin and Jack tug him up out of the water.</p><p>The Morningstar’s son flops down onto his belly, coughing up water, shivering.</p><p>“Guys!” Danny’s voice diverts their attention back to him. “He’s not breathing! Isa’s not breathing!”</p><p>Adam pushes himself around, Austin and Jack crawl across their ice sheet to the other twin’s side, Jack crawls up over their cousin, pumping his chest while Danny tilts his head back, trying to get air pumping through him before his heart stopped, if it hadn’t already.</p><p>Austin presses his fingers to their cousins neck, his eyes widening. “Guys, I can’t find a pulse! I can’t feel a pulse!”</p><p>“Dad…” Adam whispers between hacks, his dad has been raging, since Grandfather and Aunt left, again, he doesn’t know if he’d come. “Dad…I need you…Dad….Please…”</p><p>“Dad!” The twins cry out in unison. “Dad! Help!”</p><p>“Dad, we need help!” Austin keeps trying to feel for a pulse. “Dad, please! I can’t find a pulse! Dad!”</p><p>The Morningstar’s son doesn’t think his dad is coming, so he calls for someone else, someone who would know what to do. “Uncle Raph……Uncle Raph, help…..He’s not breathing…..Isa’s not breathing…”</p><p>“Adam?” He pushes himself up at his voice. “Dad!”</p><p>Lucifer looks between the five of them, his eyes widening, watching his one nephew pumping the chest of the other. He presses his hand to his son’s blonde head as he steps forward, kneeling at his nephews side. “What happened?”</p><p>“We were going to play hockey but didn’t know if the ice was thick enough!” Danny exclaims. “Isa said he’d check it out, and the ice cracked, he fell in!”</p><p>“Uncle Luci, I can’t find a pulse!” Austin exclaims in terror. “I can’t feel a pulse!”</p><p>“Alright, first things first, let’s get off this sheet of ice.” The Morningstar lifts his nephew up off the ice, he hangs limply in his arms, and turns, sparing his brother’s son’s hand a glance, humming softly, that’s where the blood on the ice came from.</p><p>Adam pushes himself to his feet, using Michael’s son as a crutch, as they follow after the Morningstar. Ice forms under him as he walks over the water, creating a path to the shore, and looks up at the crunching in the snow.</p><p>“Dad!” Austin darts out from under his cousin’s arm, crashing into the oldest archangel, curling around him tightly. Michael frowns down at his son, resting a hand on his head, curling his other arm around him. “My son, are you alright?”</p><p>“I’m okay, but Isa’s not!” He turns, pointing at his cousin, hanging limply in Lucifer’s arms. “He’s got no pulse!”</p><p>Jack and Danny dart forward to curl around the Messenger when they spot him, Gabriel whispers to them, and they both nod.</p><p>“My son…My son has no pulse?” Raphael steps between them, reaching out to feel for himself, and his eyes widen, when the accusation is confirmed, snagging the limp boy from his brother’s arms, he disappears in a blink, with his boy hanging limply in his arms.</p><p>“Dad….” Lucifer looks around, meeting the younger blonde’s blue eyes, and curls his arm around his soaked form, trying to offer as much warmth as he can with a cold core. “Will Isa be okay?”</p><p>“Yes, little dragon.” He squeezes him into his side. “He’ll be alright.”</p><p>They all follow after the Healer, Michael, to get his son’s hand tended to, and Lucifer, to get his son warmed up and taken care of, and Gabriel, just to make sure his nephew is, in fact, going to be okay.</p><p>…</p><p>They all look over when the Healer appears, quickly followed by the other three Archangels, watching as their Archangel sets his limp boy down on one of the beds. He rolls his sleeves up, and leans over, tearing first the boy’s coat off, then his jacket, then his shirt, tugging them away, for access to his chest. He ignores the call of his name, he knows the voice, Oren’s always been very observant, it’s what made him so good at what he did.</p><p>He presses his palm to the boy’s chest, over his heart, and electricity swirls around his hand, as he pumps it into his son’s chest. The boy arches under him, he breaths a sigh of relief when his bright blue eyes fly open, he chokes, trying to inhale, and he turns the boy over onto his side. Oren slides a bucket in under him just in time, as the Healer’s son regurgitates water, he reaches a hand out, as his chest heaves, reaching for his father, and he squeezes his fingers when his large hand curls around his own.</p><p>His Virtue whispers to his young ‘brother’, words of encouragement, as he hacks up mouthful after mouthful of water. Raphael turns, looking to his nephews, his eyes land on the shivering one first. “Strip him out of those clothes and under blankets, thick wool blankets, he may burn a bit colder than the rest of them but he’s still susceptible to hypothermia. Michael, you burn hot, remove your shirt and lay in bed with him, his chest to your chest, skin on skin contact.” The oldest Archangel nods, they all know to simply do as the Healer said, there was no arguing with him, he kisses the side of his son’s head, and steps forward, guiding his little blonde nephew over to an empty bed, the boy’s hands are shaking, so he helps him in pulling his clothes off, stripping him down to his drawers. A healer takes his soaked clothes, offering an armful of thick wool blankets, and a dry pair of drawers, a pair of Isa’s, they were the same size. The healer leaves them, for the privacy the boy clearly wants, and Michael holds up a blanket as a barrier as the boy shakily exchanged his soaked drawers for the dry boxers. The oldest Archangel tugs his tunic up over his head, draping the wool blankets over the bed, and lays down, reaching out for the boy. Adam crawls up over top of him, laying over his chest, his forehead tucked in the crook of his neck, a pale cold hand resting just across from him on his chest, and he bites back a noise at the shock of the <em>cold</em>, reaching out to pull the blankets up over them, he curls his arms around his nephew and pulls him close.</p><p>“You’re warm, Uncle Micha.”</p><p>Michael smiles lightly, brushing his lips over the edge of the Nephilim’s forehead. “You’re cold.” He rubs his back soothingly. “We’ll get you warmed up in no time.”</p><p>Raphael gestures to his oldest brother’s son. “You, go get Ephraim, he’ll tend to your hand.” Austin nods, darting off to find the empath, and the third born archangel turns to his youngest brother. “Gabriel, would you get us some wool blankets?” The Messenger nods, squeezing his twins into his sides, and turns away, to fetch what he was sent for. Lucifer nods at him, taking his own leave, to sit at his son’s bedside.</p><p>“….Daddy…..” He turns his attention back around, looking down at the boy who’s hand he holds, he’s stopped hacking, but his shivering to be desired. He nods to his Captain. “Oren, help me strip him.” The Virtue nods, pulling the Nephilim’s arms out from the sleeves of his three tops, the Healer looks back around when he sees movement out of the corner of his eyes, and raises an eyebrow at the twins. “What are you two still doing here?”</p><p>“You never told us to do anything.”</p><p>“I thought you’d have guessed, off with you, get out of those wet clothes and into a bed, <em>under </em>the blankets, a healer will bring you both a wool blanket.” They stare at him and he jerks his head slightly in the direction of the empty beds to his right. “Go on, you two.”</p><p>The twins nod, darting over to the two beds on the Healer’s right, and he watches them as they shuck out of their coats and wet pants. “<em>Under </em>the blankets, boys.” He reminds when it doesn’t appear Jack is going to climb under them, they both nod, climbing under the blankets, and he nods in approval, turning back to his own boy, tugging his wet pants off, followed by his boxers. Oren pulls the blankets up over him quickly, for the boy’s modesty, and he nods, reaching up to tug his own tunic off, tossing it to rest on the bedside table. Raphael steps forward, sliding in with the boy rather carefully, Isa knows what to do, turning over, laying himself over his dad’s chest, his wet curls brushing against the underside of the Archangel’s chin.</p><p>Oren takes two wool blankets from the Messenger, Gabriel nod, returning to his twins sides, draping a blanket over each of them. The Virtue drapes a blanket over his Archangel and the Archangel’s son, the elder buries his fingers in the curls on the side of the Nephilim’s head, scratching soothingly at his head, Isa likes having his head scratched. “Go to sleep, little one, I’ll be here when you wake up.”</p><p>Isa nods, his eyes fluttering closed, reaching for his dad’s other hand, he curls his fingers around his, pulling his hand up to his face, his nose rubbing over the Archangel’s thumb, and they both watch him drift off.</p><p>Raphael smiles down at him, watching him sleep peacefully, feeling his heart beat beating steadily. “He’s going to be the death of me.”</p><p>Oren snorts. “Yes, but what a way to go.”</p><p>“If I wasn’t laying here with him, I’d smack you over the head for that remark.”</p><p>“That’s why I said it now.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0021"><h2>21. And The Eastern Seaboard</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“And here, I thought you were supposed to be impressive.”</p><p>The Archangel turned to face the hunter as he approached him, swaggering across the room as if he owned the place, do distasteful, rather full of himself. Castiel, at least, has enough brains to approach him cautiously.</p><p>“All you do is back out the room?”</p><p>Sarcasm had always irritated him, the only exception were for a certain few souls, and having to hear it from the mouth of <em>Dean Winchester, </em>only made him want to smite him more. The room had gone black, darkening, the only light being from the flashes of lightning in the storm raging around them, from the roll of his temper, his features were stony as he stared out at the hunter responsible for locking his brothers in the cage.</p><p>“And the Eastern Seaboard.”</p><p>More lightning flashed, thunder rumbling around the room, through the broken windows. Dean had the decency to look a bit put off at the admission. He was being very lenient not to allow anything more to be damaged in the storm he was brewing. He watched as the hunter turned to look out the window as more lightning illuminated the room.</p><p>He turned his attention to the Castiel. “It is a testament to my unending mercy that I don’t smite you here and now.”</p><p>They locked eyes for a long moment, only to have it interrupted by the likes of Dean Winchester, and his bullheadedness.</p><p>“Or, maybe, you’re full of crap!” The hunter turned to look at the seraph next to him. “Maybe, you’re af—” His words cut off midsentence, his eyes widening, silence overcoming him, as his body begins to convulse. Castiel turned in surprise and shock, reaching for his angel blade, and he merely raises an eyebrow, what an interesting turn of events, he extinguishes the flames keeping him their hostage with a flick of his fingers, but he remained there, his interest peaked.</p><p>Castiel lunges at something he cannot see, Dean Winchester’s eyes roll up into his head, and he falls forward, unconscious, the back of his jacket smoking. A flurry of curls enters his vision, and the seraph folds over, wheezing, a punch to the stomach, and is swept off his feet, angel blade clattering to the ground, a punch to the face, and achingly familiar electric blue eyes turn to meet his.</p><p>“Isa, my son.” He opens his arms, and the Nephilim darts forward, stepping on Castiel’s stomach as he does, and collides into him, hugging him tight around the middle. “What ever are you doing here?”</p><p>The Nephilim boy smiles up at him, resting his chin on his stomach, and he smiles down at him, stroking a finger down the bridge of his nose. “Well, I came to see you, and Oren said you just disappeared, so I came searching and saw this storm just pop up outta nowhere, and I figured you’d be in the center, so I followed, and I found you.” He turns slightly, spitting at the hunter and seraph. “No one keeps my dad locked up like their little bitch.”</p><p>“You wanted to see me, huh?” Humor fills the Archangel’s tone. “What can I heal for you today?”</p><p>“Nothing, dad, I swear!” Isa presses himself against his dad’s stomach. “I just wanted to see you, is all, you’d been really busy, and I missed you.”</p><p>“Oh, my precious son, I’ve been neglectful, can you ever forgive me?”</p><p>The boy nods. “It’s okay. I know you’ve had a lot on your plate.”</p><p>Raphael hums softly, petting a hand down the side of his head, threading his fingers through his curls to scratch at his scalp. “I’ve missed you too, my little one.” They both turn as two moans fill in the silence, watching the hunter and seraph sit up, Isa turns, as though to step away, and he holds him close. “You stay right here, little one.”</p><p>The hunter and seraph rise at the same time, Dean Winchester rubs at his head, groaning. “What the hell happened?”</p><p>There’s immense amusement in his tone when he answers. “I believe you were electrocuted.”</p><p>Castiel bends to pick up his angel blade, turning to face them, his eyes widening at the boy curled in the Archangel’s arms. Dean Winchester looks up and his eyebrows furrow at the sight of the kid. “Who the hell are you?”</p><p>“Isaiah.” The Seraph intones deeply. “What are you doing here?”</p><p>“That’s <em>‘Mr. Mostafa’ </em>to you, asshole!” Isa looks up when a finger taps his lips and his dad shakes his head. “Sorry, dad.” And presses his ear back to his stomach. “I’ll watch my language.”</p><p>“Good, see that you do.” The Archangel regards the two of them closely. “He noticed my absence and came to investigate.”</p><p>“He should smite your ass, you little bitch!”</p><p>“Isaiah.”</p><p>“Sorry, dad, won’t happen again.”</p><p>Raphael smiles down at him, tugging his ear lightly, twirling his curls around his fingers, before returning his attention upwards, directed to the hunter. “He is my son.”</p><p>“You have a <em>kid</em>!”</p><p>“I do.” He nods firmly. “And, let me make one thing perfectly clear, he is my pride and joy, for your own wellbeing, you had better not harm a single hair on his head.” He inclines his head slightly. “You’ve met my older brothers, they are rather creative, but they have <em>nothing </em>on my creativity. If I find out you, or any you are associated with, have harmed my child, I will rain a hell down on you of which the likes you have never seen before, there will be no mercy, you’ve met Lucifer’s anger, you do not want to meet <em>mine</em>.”</p><p>The Archangel nods, dismissing them, as he turns his attention back to the boy hugging him around his middle. “Isa, my beloved child, I am tired, will you come rest with me?”</p><p>Isa nods, unwinding himself from around the Archangel, raising his arms. “Carry me?”</p><p>“Isa, you are getting too big for me to carry you like that.” Even as he says it though, he’s curling his hands under the boy’s arms, bending at the knee slightly, as he lifts him off his feet, with an ease only an Archangel could have. The Nephilim curls his arms around his neck, his legs around his waist, and he smiles at him, ignoring their audience, as he presses their foreheads together. “Let’s go get some rest.”</p><p>“I’d like that, dad.” The boy rests his head on his shoulder. “I’d like that.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0022"><h2>22. Glory (Trigger Warning Inside)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Trigger warning: this chapter contains the shooting of an African American teenager by a police officer, it’s an attempt to bring awareness, that Black Lives Matter, no one person is superior to another, it’s a controversial subject, and I don’t want anyone to continue on if you are unapproving of writing about such a subject, or might be triggered by it.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>A blessing to all those innocent lives lost to police brutality, we need reform, and justice, for all those lives unjustly taken. We need a society where everyone faces the consequences of their actions, Murder <em>is </em>Murder, Assault <em>is </em>Assault, and Brutality <em>is </em>Brutality, and no one person should be above the law. If you commit any of those crimes, any crime, really, but especially those listed above, you should face the full consequences of your actions, whether you are behind the badge or in front of it. Everyone, absolutely everyone, should be held accountable for their actions, no matter the reasons or intentions or supposed justifications, life is not a video game, where you can say ‘oh, my bad’ and push restart, once you take a life, there is no starting over, there is no bringing them back. Life is a precious thing, and no one, absolutely no one, has the right to play god when it comes to allowing someone to keep it or you taking it. The justice system is not equal, it never has been, it needs reshaped and reformed and refreshed, and no more lives should have to be taken for this to be acknowledged. My biggest pet peeve is politicians and celebrities and people sending condolences, words are empty, words are just air, you say them and once you get them out, they’re gone, blown away by the wind. Action is action, action is taking a step to what needs to be done, action is something physical, action is <em>doing </em>something. We don’t need more words, we need <em>action</em>. Mothers and fathers should not have to worry about whether or not their children will come back home, children should not have to worry about whether or not their mom and dad will come back home, no one person should have to worry about losing their life while in their own home or out on the street. African American lives, Black Lives, matter just as much as every other life, there is no questioning it, there is no justification for taking one, murder is murder, it doesn’t matter who you are or what your occupation is. It’s 2020, almost 2021, it’s time to see life for how it is, equality does not exist, it is how it is, but not how it should be. It’s time to take action, to make the change that needs to be made, to think before we take action, there’s no room for jumping to assumptions, jumping to assumptions takes lives. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>I’ll stop preaching, sorry, I got a bit carried away. My best friend is an African American, we’ve known each other since middle school, she’s been my rock and my biggest supporter, and I am hers, she should not have to fear for her life. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Sorry, again, I’ll stop this time, for real, I got a bit carried away again, I just have so much to say on this matter. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>I’ll leave you with something to contemplate: Genesis 1:27 “So God created mankind in his own image, in the image of God he created them; male and female he created them.” </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>No matter what side of the argument you’re on, what story you believe in, a life is a life, it doesn’t matter what they did or who they are, man is man, and woman is woman, if God doesn’t see color, if God only sees mankind as a whole, if God created mankind in his image, aren’t we all equal?</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>…</strong>
</p><p>It all happened so fast, him and his cousins had been walking down a street, shooting each other with water guns, minding their own business. Sirens alerted them, and they turned, watching a police car come speeding down the street, they expect it to zoom passed them, they don’t expect it to skid to a halt, the officers jump out from their car, standing behind their doors, and draw their service weapons on them.</p><p>
  <em>“Drop the gun!”</em>
</p><p>His cousins raise their hands, dropping their water pistols as they were commanded, he looks down at his, holding it up. “It’s a water pistol!”</p><p>
  <em>“Drop the gun!”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Get on the ground!”</em>
</p><p>“Run!”</p><p>His twin cousins turn, bolting, as he had ordered them to, and he turns to follow after them, dropping the water pistol as he does, and starts running, he starts running as fast as he can. It’s all a blur after that, he hears a bunch of loud pops, and then there’s pain, a lot of pain, sharp pain, and he stumbles, tripping over his feet, falling onto his face, the cement rubs his skin raw, vaguely he can hear his cousins calling his name, shouting his name, sneakers pounding pavement, and he whimpers, when a knee presses to his back, hands jerking his arms back harshly, cuffs wrapping around his wrists.</p><p>
  <em>“Isa! Isa! What did you do! What did you do! Why’d you shoot him!”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Isa! Isa, get up! Isa! You’re supposed to serve and protect! How is that protecting!”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“You shot him ‘cause he’s black, didn’t you! You racist bitches!”</em>
</p><p>“John,” the second officer calls out. “It was a water pistol.”</p><p>The first officer, calls for an ambulance, looking up at his partner. “It looked like he had a gun!”</p><p>The twins watch, shouting at them, blocked by the second officer, as they load their cousin into the back of an ambulance, his wrist cuffed to the side of the bed, not acknowledging any of their calls, no movement, none at all.</p><p>The police officers leave them, following the ambulance, sirens blaring.</p><p>“Jack!” His brother tugs on his arm. “Jack, we have to get help! Come on, we have to get help! Come on!”</p><p>“Danny! Danny, they shot ‘im! They shot ‘im!”</p><p>“I know! I know, we need to get help! Where’s dad! Where did he say he’d be today!”</p><p>The one twin wrings his fingers together, wracking his mind, trying to remember, he knows his brother wasn’t paying attention when they’d been told.</p><p>“Jack!”</p><p>“I’m thinking! I’m thinking!” He throws his hands up. “The Winchesters! He said he was going to be with the Winchesters!”</p><p>“Come on! Come on, Jack, we have to get him!”</p><p>…</p><p>They all jump from their seats when the two of them appear, one with tears streaming down their face and the other as red as a tomato, two completely different emotions raging through their veins.</p><p>Dean Winchester pulls for a weapon resting on the table, a gun, he’d been cleaning his gun. “What the hell!”</p><p>He goes ignored, as the two jump for the Archangel in their midst, tugging at his arms. “Dad! Dad, they shot him! We weren’t doing anything, and they shot him!”</p><p>Gabriel tugs his arms back. “What?” He presses a hand to their chests. “Calm down, and tell me what’s going on, who was shot?”</p><p>“Isa! They shot Isa! We were minding our own business—”</p><p>“Playing with water guns, we were walking down the street to the arcade—”</p><p>“The police showed up and told us to drop our guns—”</p><p>“Isa said to run, so we ran, and—”</p><p>“And they shot him! He wasn’t moving, dad! He wasn’t moving—”</p><p>“They cuffed him, like he was some criminal, they shot him in the back—”</p><p>“He fell on his face and stopped moving—”</p><p>“He wasn’t moving! Dad, you have to help, Isa’s in trouble—”</p><p>“They shot him! <em>They shot him</em>! They shot him because he’s black—”</p><p>“Never trust the cops! They’re prejudice—”</p><p>“They didn’t even care that they shot him—”</p><p>“They cuffed him to the bed, like he did something wrong—”</p><p>“Dad! Dad, we have to help him!”</p><p>As the Archangel of Justice and Children, especially given that the child in this case was his nephew, he felt rage swell up inside of him. The ones that he had blessed had done harm to his family, to his brother’s child, to his own nephew. Gabriel curls his fingers into fists, his eyes flashing bright gold, and he turns to address his friends, a family matter had come up, he couldn’t hang out today.</p><p>“Sorry guys, something’s come up, we’ll have to raincheck.”</p><p>He turns back, curling his fingers around the twins wrists, and they’re gone in the blink of an eye.</p><p>…</p><p>His nephew is breathing through a ventilator, all of the machines around him, and he’s hooked up to every single one, the beeping of the machines fill the room, his arm cuffed to the side of the bed, as though he’s some common criminal.</p><p>His nephew, his own nephew, his brother’s son, has a tube down his throat, breathing for him, pushing oxygen into his lungs.</p><p>“Jackson, Daniel,” he stares at his nephew. “Go get your uncle.”</p><p>“But, dad—”</p><p>
  <em>“Go.”</em>
</p><p>He doesn’t mean to snap at them, he loves his sons, he loves them with all his heart, but seeing his nephew like this, laying in that bed, cuffed to the side, makes his blood boil. He hears the two of them depart in a soft flap of wings, and steps forward, snapping his fingers, hiding them in a pocket dimension, and comes to stand at his nephews bedside, reaching out tentatively, he brushes his curls back, reaching down to press a hand to his chest, he can’t heal like his brother can, he can seal some wounds, but that wasn’t enough this time, he wasn’t enough to help his own nephew.</p><p><em>“</em>Seven times.” His other hand curls into a fist. “They shot you seven times.” He quenches his anger, his inner Archangel of Justice, now is not the time, this is not the right time nor place. “They shot a child seven times.” Gabriel shakes his head, bowing his head, leaning over to press his lips to his nephew’s forehead, and pulls a chair up to sit at his bedside, listening to the beeping, to the sound of the ventilator. He reaches out, touching a finger to the cuff around his wrist, it melts under his touch, and he pulls it away, it would be best for his brother <em>not</em> to see his son cuffed to the bed.</p><p>“My son!” He looks up at their appearance, his boys and his brother appearing in the spot the twins had left just moments before, his brother rushing to the bed side, his hands shake slightly, and he stares, his hands hadn’t shaken like that since the day Michael and Lucifer had their final battle, Lucifer had almost severed Michael’s wing, and Raphael hadn’t known what to do, his hands had shaken badly, it had been hard for him to work his craft, because his craft required a steady hand. “My son.” He presses a hand to the Nephilim’s forehead, brushing his curls back, searching his face for any sort of movement. “Oh, my precious son.”</p><p>Raphael presses a hand to the boy’s chest, inhaling deeply, and Gabriel turns his attention from his twins, standing at the foot of their brother’s bed, to his brother. “Raph, brother, what’s the damage?”</p><p>“They shot him seven times. They shot my <em>son </em>seven times.” His voice is deep, there’s emotion in it, but he can’t pin which one, there’s too many of them. “A bullet pierced his lung, hence the ventilator, another—another hit his spine, the C6 Cervical Nerve, that has me the most concerned.”</p><p>Gabriel rubs a hand down his face. “Raph, I’m going to be honest, I have zero medical knowledge, why does that have you so concerned?”</p><p>“That controls the legs, right?” They both turn to look at the twin on the right, Jack stares at his uncle, his brother nodding next to him. “I think, we were talking about it in anatomy &amp; physiology at school.”</p><p>The Healer smiles at him, nodding lightly. “Very good, little nephew, yes, it does, it also affects the hands and trunk.”</p><p>“So…” Gabriel’s lost, he has very limited medical knowledge, but he is happy that his sons are learning as such in school, Jack wanted to be a doctor, something of which his Uncle bragged about as much as he could. “What does that mean, exactly?”</p><p>“He could be paralyzed from the waist down, or from the neck down, I can’t tell the true extent of the damage.”</p><p>Danny leans forward slightly. “You can heal him, though, right?”</p><p>The older archangel shakes his head lightly, petting his son’s curls back tenderly. “I can’t heal what I don’t know.” He leans over, pressing his lips to the unconscious boy’s temple, his eyes watering. “My son. I’m so sorry. You’ve been through so much for something as simple as the color of your skin. I’ve put you through so much pain.” He pulls a chair up to his bedside, sitting there, holding his child’s hand, all they can do is wait for him to wake up, to see the true extent of the damage. He leans forward, resting his forehand on the back of the boy’s hand, Gabriel can’t see his face, but he does see the tears as they drip to the floor under him.</p><p>“Uncle Raph,” one of the twins call softly. “You mean, this happens a lot?”</p><p>Their Uncle sits up, wiping his face clean with his other hand, and nods, sighing softly. “He’s been through so much, so much pain and terror, for something he had no control over.” Even Gabriel leans closer, his brother never talked about his son’s childhood, only in small snippets, both were rather tight lipped about it. “He was captured, sold as a slave in Georgia, he worked on a cotton plantation. He has a brand on his back, his owners name, a permanent reminder, a brand under his eye, the letter ‘R’, because he was a captured runaway.” He strokes his thumb over the back of the young Nephilim’s hand. “He was there, through the Civil Rights era, he was attacked by a police dog during the Children’s Crusade in Birmingham, beaten on Bloody Sunday, he was arrested multiple times for refusing to give up his seat or eating in a ‘<em>whites only’ </em>section of restaurants, he was there with the March on Washington, he heard Martin Luther Kings speech. He’s been through so much.” He makes a face. “The only difference now, is that the police use their guns instead of batons. He’s followed through stores, profiled, simply because of the color of his skin.”</p><p>“Brother,” the younger archangel’s voice is soft, quiet, as though he’s still thinking on what he should say to the others grief, he hadn’t known, he was the Archangel of Children, and he hadn’t even known his own nephew was suffering through so much. “Why doesn’t he just stay with you?”</p><p>Raphael chuckles softly. “Isa is a free spirit, he does not like being in the same place for too long, he’d go stir crazy.” His expression takes on a serious note. “Gabriel, I want to take action.”</p><p>“Yes, Raph, anything.”</p><p>He nods firmly. “I want those responsible to pay for harming my son. I want to send a message, <em>no one </em>is above the law, no matter on which line you stand, behind the badge, or before it. Murder <em>is</em> murder, assault <em>is</em> assault, brutality <em>is</em> brutality, no matter <em>who</em> commits the act.”</p><p>“You want me to have them imprisoned?”</p><p>His brother nods. “I want you to send a message to the world. Police brutality is real, it’s a part of life, it is how it is, but not how it should be, and it needs to be brought to an end.”</p><p>“Of course, brother, anything.”</p><p>Raphael nods, his fingers sparking lightly, currents travel from his fingers into the Nephilim’s wrist, he feels his grace respond, weakly, shocking him in return, like a snap of static, it’s faint, but it’s there, his son is fighting, and he smiles slightly. “Then, I want you rain divine retribution down on those responsible for his coming to harm, as the Archangel of Justice, I want you to <em>punish </em>them for their crimes.”</p><p>Gabriel blinks. “You mean—”</p><p>“I want you to make them <em>suffer</em>. Be as creative as you wish, I don’t very much care how you do it, whether they survive or not, I want you to tell them just who it is they’ve harmed, I want you to tell me of the <em>fear</em> that crosses their features when they realize just who they’ve harmed, and then I want you to deliver divine <em>Justice</em>.”</p><p>The Healer’s son wakes up three days later, gagging on the tube in his throat, and they both jump forward, the twins darting over from the couch they’d snapped up for them, they hadn’t wanted to leave their cousins side until they knew he was okay.</p><p>Raphael’s there in an instant, cooing down at his son, as wide bright blue eyes look up at him fearfully. “It’s alright, my son, you’re alright.” He curls his fingers around the tube. “I’m going to take it out, I need you to cough for me, can you do that, can you give a cough for me?”</p><p>Isa nods, coughing, grimacing as he feels the tube rubbing against his throat as it’s pulled out, and gags again, reaching up to rub at his face with his right hand, he sees a flash of familiar golden eyes, and turns to look, smiling slightly. “Hey….Uncle Gabe…”</p><p>“Hey, kiddo,” the Messenger brushes his curls back gently. “How’re you feelin’?”</p><p>“Like….Like I’ve been…Shot.”</p><p>“Not funny.” A dark finger pokes him on the nose and he turns around, looking into the emerald green eyes of his father, and tears make his eyes burn. “Daaddyyy.”</p><p>“You’re alright, my child, you’re alright.” He takes his hand, pressing his lips to the back of his hand, he wishes he’d hold him, he wants his dad to hold him, but he knows he can’t right now, so he settles for the warm lips pressed to the back of his hand, long fingers holding on tightly. “Tell me what’s wrong.”</p><p>“Dad….Dad I can’t feel my legs.” Gabriel inhales, and the twins press a hand over their mouths, Isa stares up at his dad in horror. “Dad…Dad, why can’t I feel my legs?” Panic quickly sets in. “I can’t…I can’t feel my legs! I can’t feel my legs! Oh, my god!”</p><p>“Isa!... Isa!” When that gets no response, he curls his hand around the boy’s mouth, and those bright blue eyes meet his again. “Isa, now that I know the true extent of your injuries, I can heal you, I’ve already healed your punched lung. I can heal you.”</p><p>He moves his hand when he feels his mouth open. “You can?”</p><p>“Well, I wouldn’t be the Archangel of Healing, if I couldn’t.” He curls his hand over his son’s chest. “And, then you’ll come home with me, the others were quite concerned when your cousins arrived going on about how you’d been shot, they’ll want to see you for themselves.”</p><p>Isa curls his fingers around his dad’s wrist, feeling his tingly grace swirling up his back, it makes him shiver. “Dad, no sneak attacks.”</p><p>“I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0023"><h2>23. By Your Side</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Adam waves his hands when the hunter opens his mouth, he knows whatever’s going to come out of it, it’s going to be bad, Dean Winchester needed a filter, one of which he did not have, it was his younger brother who used his brain before opening his mouth.</p><p>They’d been talking about their moms, him and his cousin, Isa didn’t talk about his often, he knew it was a sore subject, all of the cousins and the three other Archangels knew of Isa’s history, they knew it was best to avoid the subject, unless him or his dad brought it up, then it was okay to talk about, only if they started the conversation. Dean and Sam Winchester were there, the two Nephilim were waiting with them, sitting on the trunk, waiting for their dad’s to come back from their mission, the Winchesters had done their half, and now it was the divines turn, so they’d made themselves comfortable, the two hunters leaning against the side of their car, just listening to their conversation, but not inputting.</p><p>Isa made a side comment, under his breath, but Adam heard it, and he knows that if he heard it, then the two humans heard it, and he looked up when he saw the movement, his ice blue eyes widening when the older hunter set his beer bottle on the trunk, waving his hands as he opened his mouth.</p><p>“So, she was a whore?” Sam gasps from next to him and he turns to look at his brother. “What, she slept with a married man, technicalities be damned, that makes her a whore.”</p><p>“Dean…” The younger hunter’s eyes move from his brother to the Nephilim, to the Healer’s son, his shoulders tense, fingers curled into fists. “Isa, he doesn’t mean it.”</p><p>“Sammy, I don’t need you to defend me, I’m just calling it as it is.”</p><p>Adam glares at the ignorant hunter, turning his attention back to his cousin, Isa’s eyes are hard, but they’re not glowing, not completely, anyway, they don’t need Isa to lose his temper when Uncle Raph isn’t here to reel it back in. “Isa, just ignore him, he’s an idiot.”</p><p>“Hey! It is what it is!”</p><p>The Morningstar’s son glares at him from his cousins side. “Dude, shut up, you’re digging yourself an early grave.”</p><p>“Hey, I’m just saying, I think the Pharaoh’s wife was in the right, bitch slept with her husband.” Dean takes a gulp of his beer, he’s had a few, Adam’s sure his mind, though it usually is, is somewhere between idiot drunk and regular normal idiot self. “She was a whore, bitch got what she deserved.”</p><p>Adam’s eyes widen in horror, turning back to his cousin, watching as sparks start to flare from his fists, bright electric blue starting to swallow his eyes, his curls starting to float from the gathering static. Isa’s temper was like a storm, it built up over time, it strengthened and strengthened, building up, until it exploded like the first flash of lightning. He scoots away when electricity starts to travel from his fists, up his arms, pure, raw electricity, unrefined, wild electricity like a lightning bolt, thousands and thousands of volts, he doesn’t want to touch that.</p><p>The blonde Nephilim looks up to the sky, when a raindrop hits his nose, Isa controls the weather, like his dad does, and dark gray storm clouds were rolling above them, his eyes widen when a bolt of lightening strikes across the sky, and he jumps up, jumping at both hunters. “Get back!” He knocks them back bodily, as a bolt of lightning strikes where they’d been standing just moments before, bolts of lightning flare across the sky above them, they watch it for a moment, before returning their gaze to the Nephilim, still sitting on the trunk of the Impala.</p><p>Adam waves his hands placatingly. “Isa, don’t listen to him, he’s just a stupid mudmonkey. Your mom was a queen among woman.”</p><p>He goes ignored, as the Healer’s son jumps up, by some unnatural force, magnetism, he’s controlling the polarization in the air, and the Morningstar’s son takes a step back. His cousins eyes are consumed by a bright electric blue, thousands of volts of electricity outlining his body, and he pushes the two hunters back, Adam smacks the gun out of the oldest hunter’s hand.</p><p>“Hey!”</p><p>“Don’t, when you shoot a gun, there’s a tiny spark that’s created, he could take that spark, and make it explode, like a freaking bomb.”</p><p><strong><em>“What did you say about my mom!” </em></strong>Isa’s voice is robotic, there’s a slight echo, and Adam pushes them back another step. <strong><em>“My mom DESERVED to be executed for being RAPED!” </em></strong>The sky above them rumbles dangerously, electricity is gathering in his hands. <strong><em>“My mom was a SLAVE, she had no CHOICE, she would have been executed for saying NO to the Pharaoh!”</em></strong></p><p>Adam watches as the electricity solidifies in his right hand, and his eyes widen, pushing the two hunters down. “Get down!” The watch the Healer’s son jump, from the trunk of the car, reel his right arm back, a bolt of lightning forming in his hand, and Adam creates a thick barrier of ice with a wave of his hand just as his cousin throws his bolt of lightning. “Oh, my God!” Sam exclaims in surprise. “Was that a bolt of lightning, did he form a bolt of lightning in his hand, I didn’t know he could do that!”</p><p>Lucifer’s son turns to look at him incredulously. “His dad is the <em>storm bringer</em>! Those are <em>parlor tricks </em>compared to what he can do!”</p><p>“What <em>can </em>he do?” They duck down when another bolt strikes their barrier, chipping it away slowly, Adam made it thick, as thick as he could. “He can control you, like a puppet, the human body runs on electrical impulses, the heart in particular, he can stop your heart with a flick of his fingers.” Adam glares at Dean. “Pray to Grandfather, that he doesn’t think of that.” He jumps around then their barrier shatters, eyes staring up at his enraged cousin, Isa glares down at them, his eyes focused on the oldest hunter, floating above them, curled inwards slightly, his curls floating, little bolts of static jumping from them. “Isa, you need to calm down, your mom was an amazing woman, truly a queen, you need to calm down!”</p><p><strong><em>“My mom was no whore, she was no criminal, she hadn’t committed a single crime in all her life.” </em></strong>His voice echoes around them, like the thunder after a flash of lightning, and he curls his fingers. <strong><em>“My mom was tried and convicted and sentenced to death, for something she had no control over, her life was at stake no matter what choice was made, there was no coming out of it safely.”</em></strong></p><p>“Hadn’t committed a <em>single </em>crime?”</p><p>“Dean!” Sam smacks his brother. “Shut up!”</p><p>“What! What did I say that was so wrong!”</p><p>Adam waves his hands placatingly at his cousin, as he snarls, and lighting flashes across the sky, the wind picking up around them, if they’re lucky, they can stop this before he creates a <em>hurricane </em>above them. “Isa, don’t listen to the stupid mudmonkey! He’s dumb, and absolute idiot, don’t listen to him.”</p><p>He goes ignored, as the third born’s son points a finger in their direction. <strong><em>“But you, you have blood on your hands, you’re a MURDERER! I’m your judge, I’m your jury, and I’ve chosen your sentence, you’re going to die here, Dean Winchester, this will be your resting place, your last breath will be in this field.” </em></strong>He raises his hand, above his head, fingers spread, and light churns in the clouds above them.</p><p>The Morningstar’s son pushes them back again. “Get back! Get back!” And jumps forward when he feels the pressure change, a large bolt of unconstrained lightning striking the ground where they had been just moments previously, the grass burning, the ground scorched black, and he jumps around. “Isa, don’t make me fight you! You need to calm down! You can’t kill anyone! What would Uncle Raph say!”</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>“My father isn’t here. I am. I’ve killed before. I won’t start having second thoughts now.”</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>He chances a step forward, and jumps back when the air pressure changes, another bolt of lightning striking the ground, scorching another spot. “I know, but you’re better then that, you’re better then that! You’re the son of the Healer! Uncle Raph wouldn’t want you to take anymore lives, even if that life is Dean Winchester’s, he wouldn’t want that for you!”</p><p><strong><em>“Then, he better hurry and get here, because he’s the only one that can stand the chance of stopping me.” </em></strong> Isa raises his hand again. <strong><em>“He’s not here right now, it’s just me, and I won’t stop, you can’t make me. I’d kill you all. But, I’ll start with Dean Winchester, because no one, NO ONE, insults my mom.” </em></strong>A bolt of lightning responds to his call, flaring down to him, and he curls his fingers around it. <strong><em>“Die, asshole!”</em></strong></p><p>Adam jumps around. “Move!” Shoving the Winchesters to the side, a he jumps to the other, as the bolt of lightening is thrown down, light the strike of a whip, cutting a line in the grass, flames start up, the dry grass starting to smolder and burn, a line scorched in the earth. “<em>Dad! Dad, I need you! Uncle Raph, Uncle Raph, you need to come back! Isa…Isa’s out of control! He’s going to kill Dean Winchester!” </em>Adam does the only thing he can think of, calling for his dad and Uncle, as the flames in the grace begin to build in strength, and the bolts of lightning crack across the sky, he watches his cousin reach a hand out, palm down, and he begins to curl his fingers inwards. He looks around when he hears the older hunter gasp, a hand coming up to clutch at his chest, over his heart, he wheezes, falling to his knees, he knows what his cousin is doing, Isa’s inciting a heart attack. <em>“Uncle Raph, it’s really bad! Uncle Raph, he’s going to make Dean Winchester have a heart attack! He’s going to stop his heart! Uncle Raph, we need your help, you need to come back!”</em></p><p>A familiar chill spreads through the air, frost coating the grass, dampening and extinguishing the flames, Adam knows that chill, <em>he knows that chill, </em>and he spins around, relief flowing through him, his dad and Uncle stand there, watching Isa above them.</p><p>“What’s caused my son to lose control?” Raphael presses a hand to Dean’s shoulder, relieving the pressure on his heart, he raises his hand, catching the bolt of lightning the Nephilim threw at the hunter on the ground in front of him. “He’s not easy to anger to the point where he loses control like this, what’s happened, we’ve only been gone for an hour, at the most?”</p><p>Adam feels comforted with his dad’s hand curled over his shoulder, and he turns to address his uncle, as he throws the bolt back into the storm clouds, pulling the hunter before him to his feet.</p><p>Lucifer watches his nephew, out of all of the Nephilim cousins, they’d agreed, the last time Isa had lost control like this, no one was quite sure what had set him off, it took a lot to bring him to that point, but something had, that Raphael’s son was the most dangerous out of all of them.</p><p>The last time he’d lost control was March 18<sup>th</sup>, 1925, he’d made an outbreak of storms, producing tornadoes, the deadliest tornados in U.S. history, the Tri-State Tornado, killed 695 people in Missouri, Illinois, and Indiana. The outbreak itself was the deadliest known outbreak, with a combined death toll of 747 people across the Mississippi River Valley.</p><p>And then shortly after, they supposed it was still from the rage that had caused him to lose control the first time, he’d lost control again. April 26<sup>th</sup>, 1989, in Bangladesh, claiming at least thirteen-hundred lives, the deadliest known tornado in the history of the Earth.</p><p>His brother had been forced to render his son unconscious, lest he continue on the path of destruction and devastation, Isa hadn’t been allowed to wake for three days, and even then, his brother had sealed his grace, on the off chance, that whatever set him off, did so again. The boy had clung to his father after that, refusing to let go, he’d been a mess, his anger having faded to utter devastation.</p><p>They never did learn what had set him off.</p><p>Adam’s voice pulls him from his reverie. “He called his mom a whore and said she deserved what she got.”</p><p>“He <em>what</em>?”</p><p>Lucifer steps around his son, pulling his brother away, shoving him forward, before he can lose himself too. “Raph, go get your boy, I’ll take care of it.” He waves a few fingers at his younger brother. “Go.”</p><p>The Healer glares at the hunter, but turns, walking forward, Isa wouldn’t dare try and attack him, even in this enraged state. Lucifer watches him for a moment, before turning, plowing his fist into the hunters face, not holding anything back, and it sweeps the human off his feet, sending him sprawling to the ground. “That’s for my brother and nephew. How <em>dare </em>you say such a thing about <em>her</em>.”</p><p>“Isa,” he raises his arms, standing just a few paces away, holding his arms open to the floating Nephilim. “Isa, come here, come down.”</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>“I’m going to kill him. He insulted mom. He said she DESERVED it.”</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>“No, no you will not kill him.” Raphael shakes his head, flexing his fingers slightly. “Isa, come down here, come here, it’s alright.”</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>“No.” </em>
  </strong>
</p><p>Rain drops fall from the sky, like the clouds are crying, his son is crying.</p><p>“La bas ya eisaa, taeal ‘iilaa huna.” (It’s okay, Isa, come here.) He holds his arms open, staring right back at his child, flexing his fingers slightly. “Taeal ‘iilaa ‘abiin, saghirati, taeal ‘iila ‘abi.” (come to daddy, my little one, come down to daddy.) The air pressure around them starts to change, Isa’s regaining himself, his composure. “Daeni ‘amsakuk, daeni ‘amsakak alan, anzal.” (let me hold you, let me hold you now, come down)</p><p>Sam steps up the Morningstar’s side, his brother deserved it, he’d help him later. “What’s he saying?”</p><p>Lucifer spares him a glance, before returning his attention to his distraught nephew, and his brother. “He’s coaxing him to come down.”</p><p>“What language are they speaking, I’ve never heard it before.”</p><p>The Morningstar hums softly, watching his nephew lower himself to his awaiting father, his brother curling around his son, holding him close, as small fingers curl into the back of his shirt tightly. “Arabic, it’s Isa’s native language.”</p><p>“It is?”</p><p>“Yes, Sam, he was born in Egypt.”</p><p>Isa curls into his dad, clutching at him tightly, soaking his shirt with his tears, as his power slowly fades. “Abi, ‘ahan walidatih, qal ‘iinaha tastahiqu dhlk, wa’anaha tastahiqu almawt, hu….hu….” (daddy, he insulted mommy, he said she deserved it, that she deserved to die…..he….he…) His dad cradles the back of his head gently, holding him close to him, as the storm clouds above them start to dissipate, his son’s anger fading, and turning into pain, heartache. “Aerif, ya saghirati, ‘aearf. Kanat walidatik malikatan bayn alnisa;, laqad ‘ahabatk min kuli qalbiha, wala turid ‘an taqdi ealaa hayat shakhs akhurin. ‘iinaha la turid dhlk lika.” (I know, my little one, I know. Your mother was a queen among women, she loved you with all her heart, she would not want you to take another’s life. She wouldn’t want that for you.)</p><p>The small Nephilim breaths a sob into his chest, fingers digging into his back. “’ana asif ‘abi.” (I’m sorry, daddy.)</p><p>“”ana ‘aelam ya taflay, la basa.” (I know, my child, it’s alright.) He rubs his fingers down the back of his neck. “Sawf ‘ajealuk tanam, hsnaan?” (I’m going to put you to sleep, alright?)</p><p>Isa nods slightly against his chest. “Hasanana, aby.” (okay, daddy.)</p><p>Raphael nods, stroking a finger down the back of the boy’s neck, and adjusts his grip when he falls limp against him, collapsing against him, scooping him up, an arm under his knees, he cradles him in his arms, turning back to the others, carrying the sleeping Nephilim in his arms.</p><p>The Morningstar smiles slightly, bowing his head silently, his hand resting on top of his son’s blonde head.</p><p>Adam looks from his cousin to his Uncle. “Is Isa going to be okay, Uncle Raph?”</p><p>The Healer smiles at his nephew, nodding lightly. “He’ll be fine, Adam.” He brushes his lips over his sleeping son’s forehead. “He’s just going to sleep for a bit.”</p><p>“Is it going to be like last time?”</p><p>He shakes his head. “I don’t think so, Adam, this wasn’t as bad as last time.”</p><p>“Last time?”</p><p>Lucifer turns to the younger hunter. “A story for another time, Sammy.”</p><p>Raphael nods silently, turning his attention to the older hunter, glaring down at him heatedly. “If you <em>ever </em>speak about his mother like that again, I <em>won’t </em>stop him, Father’s favor be <em>damned</em>.” He turns away from the hunter to look at his brother. “I’m taking him home.”</p><p>“Of course, brother, I can finish things up here.” The Morningstar nods to the sleeping boy. “Take care of the little jackal.”</p><p>The Healer nods, they blink, and he’s gone.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0024"><h2>24. Snapping The Bowstring</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Akriel smiles as he approaches his Archangel, his eyes looking down to the Nephilim boy, still small, even as a teenager (compared to all of them anyway), dangling upside down in his father’s grip, the fingers of his right hand curled securely around his right ankle, the fingers of his left hand wiggling and stroking at the Nephilim’s bare sole, if anyone knows just how sensitive the boy’s feet are, it’s his father, his bright green hightop sneaker and sock resting next to them on the Archangel’s desk.</p><p>The Healer seems unphased by the shrieking laughter the Nephilim pleads through, his pleas falling on deaf ears, his eyes skimming over the healers in his Infirmary, watching them work with the eye of a hawk, paying close attention to the finer detail, making sure they are treating them all with kindness, respect, and dignity, no matter what class they come from.</p><p>Isa reaches up for his father’s hands, and the Archangel lifts him up high, in return, and presses his hand to his belly, before lowering him back down, and returns to torturing his sole. The Nephilim shrieks brightly, his arms curling around his belly tightly, his laughter picking up in quantity and pitch.</p><p>The mental specialist comes to stand before them, smiling down at the hysterical boy, shaking his head, he looks up to his Archangel. “Raph, what did he do this time, for such cruel torment?”</p><p>Raphael smiles lightly, looking down at his son’s foot, reaching up to play and pinch at his toes, the Nephilim dangling from his grasp squeal’s softly, his toes scrunching up, but that doesn’t inhibit him in the slightest, and his torture continues uninterrupted, before turning his attention up to his Virtue. “He snapped the string on my bow.”</p><p>Akriel’s eyes widen, and he looks back down at the hysterical mess of the Archangel’s child, his eyebrows raising, before returning his gaze upwards. “I’m surprised <em>this </em>is your retribution, I would have expected…..something else, for touching your bow, as you tell him constantly not to touch it.”</p><p>The Archangel hums softly, worming a finger between the boy’s first two toes, Isa squeals softly, trying to curl his toes, and instead, he changes his attack by pinching at his baby toe, the worst toe, out of all of them, he squeals again, his toes fanning out, and the Archangel scratches a finger over the skin underneath. “I can’t be too upset, it had become a tad on the dirty side, and he was trying to surprise me by cleaning and polishing it. For someone who <em>knows </em>how to handle a bow, he applied too much pressure to the string, and thus, it snapped.” He returns to scratching his fingers down the length of the boy’s soul, and he squeaks, choking on a shriek, as his laughter raises in quality. “He was quite upset, apologizing profusely, tears were even shed, I was upset, more so at the task of having to restring my bow, then the fact he had touched it, I knew it wasn’t for ill or idiotic purposes, he was just trying to help me, because I’ve been so busy recently, I haven’t had time to tend to my bow, and I’ve grown a tad neglectful.” He pauses his attack, for a short moment, allowing the boy to catch his breath, and sooner than the mental specialist had thought, his laughter picked up again, and his arms curled around his belly. His Archangel gave some semblance of mercy, no matter how short lasting it was, stroking a single finger down the center of his soul, from his toes all the way down to his heel, for a few minutes, before digging his fingers in, and the boy squeals brightly, cackling with laughter, the Archangel unphased by the kicking he received from the boy’s other foot.</p><p>He did give a threat though. “Isa, if you keep kicking me, I will take hold of the other foot, and use my grace on your feet instead, and I promise you, I will make sure that your punishment is so much worse, if that comes to pass.”</p><p>The Nephilim shakes his head, squealing softly at the thought of his dad’s tingly grace over his feet, that’s so much worse, so, <em>so</em> much worse, and he lets his other leg to hang limply, because, as the smart boy he is, he knows he doesn’t want that.</p><p>Raphael nods lightly, looking back up at the younger healer, Akriel smiles slightly, shaking his head lightly, the Archangel returning to their conversation, as though he didn’t have a hysterically cackling boy dangling by the ankle in his grasp, and he’s torturing that foot, mercilessly. “So, I thought to myself, I know the perfect way to tend to all three of these issues: the upset, the punishment for snapping my bows string, and my recent neglect. And, thus, here we are.”</p><p>The Virtue hums, nodding in understanding, looking down at the hysterical boy, as his pleas for mercy fall on the deaf ears of his <em>‘unforgiving’ </em>father. “But, the belly <em>and </em>the foot,” he looks back up at him, taking note of his Archangel’s gleaming eyes, they shine with amusement, and Akriel smirks slightly, he’s enjoying himself, <em>sneaky torturous bastard</em>. “Isn’t that a bit overkill?”</p><p>“I wanted this lesson to be memorable, I don’t mind if he tends to my bow, but I want him to remember what will happen should he snap the string again, accident or not.” Akriel’s eyes widen when his Archangel smirks at him. “So, on another note, Ak, I’m a <em>‘sneaky torturous bastard’</em>, am I?”</p><p>Dammit, he hadn’t thought he projected those thoughts.</p><p>The Archangel smiles at him, it’s a sharks smile, but it’s playful too. “Oh, but you <em>did</em>.”</p><p>He tries to make his escape, he well and truly does, but his Archangel is quick, his hand snaps out, fingers curling in the collar of his tunic, giving the Nephilim boy a small reprieve from his playful punishment, and he yelps as he’s swung around, as his father pushes his brother down on the bed nearest him, pressing his fingers to his chest. “Let me be that <em>‘sneaky torturous bastard’ </em>you seem to think I am.”</p><p>Akriel shrieks loudly, arching his back, curling in on himself, when he feels his Archangel’s grace twirling around his belly, and through the feathers of his wings, boisterous laughter erupting from him like lava from a volcano.</p><p>Raphael returns to his spot, his fingers returning to their duty of wreaking havoc on his beloved son’s foot, his laughter picking back up, and his Virtues bright cackles filling in the empty spaces of the Nephilim’s own bright laughter, and he smiles lightly, his eyes returning to skimming over his healers completing and going through their tasks.</p><p>Perhaps, <em>perhaps</em>, he is a bit of a <em>‘sneaky torturous bastard</em>’.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0025"><h2>25. When You Believe</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Raphael, Isa, and the other angels speak Arabic to each other.</p><p>
  <strong>Raphael, Oren, and the other angels speak Latin to each other.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>AN: the song Raphael sings is When You Believe from the prince of Egypt. It’s inspiring, highly recommended.</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>…</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>He never been more happy to see his ‘abi (daddy) before in his life, him appearing in a blaze of glory, knocking the foreman back with a sharp smack of his staff to the midriff, sending the foreman careening back into a stone column, the others around him gasp in surprise, but he pays them no mind, trudging out of the thick deep mud, clamoring up the sand embankment, tears making his eyes shimmer. “Abi! ‘Abi! ‘Abi!”</p><p>“Abnay!” (my son) His ‘abi turns at the call, bending at the right time, sweeping him up off his feet, and he breathes a sob, hugging tightly around his neck, his small fingers curling in the collar of his robes. “La bas ya bunaya, ‘ana akhadhuk mn hdha almakan.” (its alright my son, im taking you away from this place). He presses a kiss to his head of curls. “La bas ya ‘abi huna.” (it’s alright, daddys here)</p><p>The little one pulls away, his shimmering eyes looking into emerald green, they’re soft, they’re his abi (daddy), he knows those eyes. “Ana qadim maeak ya ‘abi?” (I’m coming with you, daddy?)</p><p>“Nem, saghiratiun, satati maeia, sakhadhak mn hdha almakan.” (yes, my little one, you’re coming with me, I’m taking you from this place.)</p><p>His eyes shimmer with more tears. “Ahabak ‘abi ‘ahbak.” (I love you daddy, I love you.)</p><p>Warm lips press to his forehead. “Ahbik aydana ya eisaa.” (I love you too, Isa.)</p><p>…</p><p>Isa stares, looking all around him, clutching his abi’s (daddy’s) fingers, and the inner skirt of his robes, hiding under the cloak, his eyes wide, it was all so beautiful, so much color, he turns at the sounds, shrinking further under his abi’s cloak as they approach a busy place, his fingers squeeze his comfortingly. His bare feet pad gently over the warm stone as they enter the busy place, and he peeks out from under abi’s cloak to watch them as they walk passed, he meets a few eyes, and they pause, while he shrinks back under abi’s cloak, hiding away from them, clutching his fingers tighter.</p><p>Abi’s staff clinks against the stone floor as they walk down a path, he sees beds, lots and lots of beds, he’s never slept in a bed before, he has a mat and a blanket, slaves weren’t given beds.</p><p><strong>“Raph!”</strong> He looks up at the new voice, whimpering near silently, and ducks behind abi’s leg, hiding further in his cloak, as they come to a stop, and a man approaches<strong>. “Aegyptum petit obsessaque Michaelem audivi.” (I heard you and Michael laid siege on Egypt.)</strong></p><p><strong>“Fecerunt autem et Aran et diu fuit venire.” (we did, oren, it has been to come for a long time.)</strong> Abi squeezes his hand lightly. <strong>“Populus possunt patris tui.” (Father’s people are free.)</strong></p><p>He hears words being spoken, but he doesn’t understand them, and he peeks out from behind abi’s leg to look up at him, wondering what he’s saying. Abi looks down at him, and smiles, squeezing his hand again. He looks back up at the other man, curiousness taking over fear, but when their eyes meet, he ducks back again, squeezing abi’s fingers fearfully.</p><p>“<strong>Raph</strong>,” Oren tilts his head, to get a better look at the bright blue-eyed boy. <strong>“Quis est?” (Who’s this?)</strong></p><p>Raphael smiles down at the boy, his son, his little son, and squeezes his hand in comfort, when he feels him press against the back of his leg. <strong>“Unum parvorum liberavimus. Nomen Isaiae, lxiii vocamus ipse meo.” (one of the little ones we freed, his name is Isaiah, but we call him Isa, he is my son.)</strong></p><p><strong>“<em>Vos</em>.”</strong> <strong>(you)</strong> Oren sounds mystified. <strong>“<em>Habes filium?</em>” (You have a son?)</strong></p><p>He gives his Virtue a look. <strong>“Et quid est hoc, ut educeret aurificem?” (I do, is that so unbelievable?)</strong></p><p>The younger healer smiles at him, looking down to the boy once more, leaning over slightly to get a better look, he smiles when the boy shrinks back behind his archangel’s leg for a moment, and his head of curls pokes out a moment later. <strong>“Qui habet oculos tuos.” (He has your eyes.)</strong></p><p>
  <strong>“Oculi virent Aran.” (My eyes are green, Oren.)</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Non, ego scio: vos errant ‘usura vestry ego cum gratia sit, clara hyacintho et convertam eos, quia non habet gratiam in oculis tuis.” (No, I know, I mean when you’re using your grace, they turn a bright blue, he has your grace eyes.) </strong>
</p><p>The Archangel smiles down at the boy, pulling him out gently, little fingers curl back in the skirt of his robes<strong>. “Matrem eius accredit.” (He gets his eyes from his mother.)</strong></p><p>The little Nephilim looks up at his father. “Abi, min hu?” (daddy who’s he)</p><p>Raphael smiles down at him, tugging on his hand lightly. “Hadha ‘uwrin, ya saghirti, In yudhiak, yakhruj liliqayih.” (this is oren, my little one, he will not hurt you, come out and meet him)</p><p>Isa looks from his father to the other man, stepping closer, following him with his eyes as he squats in front of him, his robes brushing the floor. “Marhabaan awryn.” (hello oren)</p><p>Oren smiles at him, reaching out tentatively to poke him in the belly, smiling when he draws a small giggle from the small child. “Mrhbana ‘ayuha almaealij alsaghir, surirat bilaqayik.” (hello, little healer, it’s nice to meet you.)</p><p>The small Nephilim child smiles, reaching out curiously with his fingers, Oren smiles, leaning in for him, feeling the small fingers rub over his beard. “Shaeiratik mushawsha.” (Your whiskers are scratchy.)</p><p>The man in front of him smiles, tilting his head slightly, to press his lips to this little finger tips. “Hum, ‘alays kadhalk?” (They are, aren’t they?) His large fingers are warm when they curl around his, pressing his lips to his palm softly. “Hal taerif ma hi fayidat shaeirati?” (do you know what my whiskers are good for?)</p><p>Isa smiles. “La.” (no.)</p><p>Oren smiles at him, pressing his lips to his palm again. “Iinahum jaydun jdana fi firak albutun alsaghirat, wadaghdghat jdana.” (They’re very good at rubbing into small little bellies, very tickly.)</p><p>The little one giggles softly, stepping away from him, curling his arm around his belly. “La shaeirat daghdaghat.” (No tickly whiskers.)</p><p>He chuckles softly, poking him in the belly, under his arm, and the boy squeaks softly. “Lays baed, ya saghirati, lkn qrybana.” (Not yet, little one, but soon.)</p><p>Isa looks up when he hears his abi’s soft deep chuckle. <strong>“Idoneos auctores habeo quod paulo parva venter est sensitiva.” (I have it on good authority, that his small little belly is quite sensitive.)</strong></p><p>Oren smiles up at his Archangel. <strong>“O vere, ergo est?” (Oh, really, is it now?)</strong> He smiles back down at the small little boy. “Akhbarani waldak ‘ana bitank alsaghir hassas lilghaya.” (Your father tells me that your small little belly is quite sensitive.)</p><p>The little Nephilim giggles softly, it makes both angels smile at the sound of it, Oren doesn’t know what exactly he was freed from, his heart can’t comprehend someone forcing someone so young into slavery, but his mind has already decided that to be true, both combating for their place in response. “Akadhib ‘abi.” (daddy lies.)</p><p>The Virtue chuckles, looking up to his Archangel, he’s growing fond of this little one, and he’s only known him for a few minutes. <strong>“Dicit patrem suum mendacium.” (he says his father lies.)</strong></p><p>Raphael chuckles soft and deep, tucking his staff against his shoulder, tugging on the little one’s hand, gaining his attention, he wiggles the fingers of his free hand down at him. “Abi yukadhib, hah?” (Daddy lies, huh?)</p><p>Isa giggles softly, they love that sound, ducking away from him and his wiggling fingers. “La ‘ab wala kadhab wala kadhban!” (no daddy, no lie, no lie!) The Archangel chuckles again, turning back to his Captain. <strong>“Aetas debet habere iudicium.” (He must have had a lapse in judgement.)</strong></p><p>Oren grins lightly. <strong>“Videtur quod sic. Sit quia ego video quod anima mea archangelus?” (It appears so. May I see this sensitivity for myself, my archangel?)</strong></p><p>The Archangel chuckles, it’s a sound Oren will relish in, it’s a sound he hasn’t heard in such a long while, this boy was a miracle in disguise. <strong>“Potestis. Ingens postea. Debet lavari oculos prior.” (You may. At a later time. He needs to be bathed and looked over first.)</strong></p><p>The younger healer smiles at the boy once more. “Yaqul walidak ‘iinah yumkinuni aikhtibar hadhih alhasasiat binafsiin, fi waqt lahiq, sa’antazir bisabr lifarak shaeirat alqarad fi jmye ‘anha’ dhlk albatn alsaghir.” (your father says I can test that sensitivity for myself, at a later time, I will be waiting patiently to rub my tickly whiskers all over that small little belly.)</p><p>Isa giggles again, stepping closer to his abi’s leg. “La shaeirat daghdaghat!” (no tickly whiskers!)</p><p>Oren chuckles softly, rubbing his beard lightly. “Lays baed, ya saghirati, walakuna qrybana, qrybana jdana.” (not yet, little one, but soon, very soon.)</p><p>He looks up when his Archangel sighs softly, it’s a sad sigh, and the Healer looks down at his small child. <strong>“Et posset aliquo usu amet, aliquam risus mea puerum, natus in servitutem abduci, ut imaginary potestis, quia non bene tractate, volo intueri super eum igni.” (he could use some fun, some laughter. My beloved precious son, was born into slavery, I can imagine, he was not treated well, I want to look him over thoroughly.)</strong></p><p>His Virtue smiles up at him in assurance. “Lpse loquetur pro te, atque alii: Ego certus sum: quod certe faciemus habet multa risus.” (I speak for myself, and the others, I am sure, we will make sure he has plenty of laughter.)</p><p>Raphael smiles lightly. <strong>“Im ‘certus vobis omnem voluntatem. Nonne trahunt vos ad me poposcit baleum et Aran?” (I’m sure you all will. Did you draw the bath I had asked for, Oren?)</strong></p><p>He nods lightly. <strong>“Feci. Ea calda fovere. In mantilibus et fruticum raritate praetexitur peniculus sapo, et requiescis in lecto in a clean subcinctus.” (I did. It is still warm. The soap and towels and scrub brush are resting on the bed with the clean tunic.)</strong></p><p>The Archangel nods lighty. <strong>“Gratias ago tibi, et Aran et quid vis ut vos vocant?” (I thank you Oren, what would you like him to call you?)</strong></p><p>Oren smiles down at the little one, reaching out to poke him in the belly again, humming at his soft little giggle, a small hand batting at his. “Yumkinuk munadati al’akh al’akbar.” (You can call me big brother.)</p><p>Isa smiles at him shyly. (Hsnana, ‘akhi al’akbar.” (Okay, big brother.)</p><p>The Healer smiles down at them, tugging the little one’s hand lightly, and the small Nephilim looks up at him. “Taeal ya bunaya, daena nastahm.” (Come, my son, let’s get you bathed.)</p><p>The little one nods, curling the fingers of his other hand back into the side of his robes skirt. “Hasanana aby.” (Okay, daddy.)</p><p>The Archangel nods, curling the fingers of his other hand around his staff, and thanks his Virtue softly. Oren nods, straightening from his squatting position, and steps away, allowing them to continue forward. Isa peeks out from under his abi’s cloak once more, feeling a bit more comfortable after having met al’akhu al’akbar (big brother), peering around at all the passing others, he still ducks back when others meet his eyes, bringing them to pause in their doings.</p><p>He looks ahead of him as they turn, humming softly at the large tub, he tugs on his abi’s skirts, pointing at the tub when he looks down at him, so they step forward, and he reaches out, sticking his fingers in the water. “Alma; dafi ya ‘abi.” (The water is warm, daddy.)</p><p>His abi squeezes his hand lightly. “Jayid, kunt amul ‘an yakun aljaw dafyana, yumkinuk alqiam bitanzif jayid, ya saghirti.” (Good, I had hoped it was still warm, you could do with a good scrubbing, my little one.) Abi tugs on his hand lightly. “Akhraj min huna, ya saghirati, ‘ant baman huna, walan yudhiak ‘ahd.” (Step out here, my little one, you’re safe here, no one shall harm you.)</p><p>Isa looks up at him. “Alwaed ya ‘abi?” (Promise, daddy?)</p><p>He nods. “Aedak ya wildi, taeala.”(I promise, my child, come out.)</p><p>The small boy lets go of his skirts, clutching his hand as he steps out from the safety of hiding under his cloak, and turns, clutching at the front of his skirts instead. A large hand pets his curls back, tilting his head back, and his eyes meet the emerald green of his abi. “La bas ya abnay, ‘ana huna.” (it’s alright, my son, I am here.)</p><p>Raphael curls his hand around the back of the boy’s head, leaning forward to lean his staff against the wall, shrugs his cloak and outer robes off, setting them to rest on the foot of the bed next to them, and rolls his sleeves up. He uncurls the small fingers out from the front of his skirts, and lowers himself to sit on his knees, curling his fingers around the small Nephilim’s waist. “Ant baman huna ya eisaa, sa’ahmik.” (You’re safe here, Isa, I will protect you.)</p><p>Isa nods slightly. “Hasanana aby.” (okay, daddy.)</p><p>“Jayid jayid jiddaan.” (good, very good.) The Archangel curls his fingers in the waistband of the short linen kilt the child wears. “Daena nukhrijuk mn hdha, ‘ayuha alsaghir, ‘iilaa alhamam.” (Let’s get you out of this, little one, and into the bath.)</p><p>He nods again. “Hasanana aby.” (okay, daddy.)</p><p>The Archangel pulls the small shendyt (Skirt) down, and the Nephilim curls his hands over his abi’s shoulders, as he steps out of his piece of clothing. The small boy curls his legs slightly, when his abi’s fingers curl around his middle and lifts him up, setting him down in the tub, he smiles, waving his hands under the water, he’s never washed in a tub before.</p><p>Raphael smiles at him, leaning over for the scrub brush and soap, dipping both in the warm water, lathering up the scrub brush with the soap bar, and sets the soap down at his side, holding a hand out. “Aetani saq, ya saghirti.” (Give me a leg, little one.)</p><p>Isa nods, leaning back, lifting his leg up, long gentle fingers curl around his ankle, and he watches as his abi scrubs the thick mud from his leg, he giggles softly when he scrubs over the bottom of his foot, and his abi smiles, glancing up at him. He lowers his cleaned leg back into the tub, and holds his hand out again, flexing his ringed fingers slightly. “Saq ‘ukhraa ya tifalay.” (Other leg, my child.) The small boy nods, lifting his other leg, watching him scrub the thick mud off of that one too, giggling once more as he scrubs over the bottom of that foot too, abi smiles up at him again. “Eisaa, kam fatani dahkatik.” (Isa, how I’ve missed your giggles.)</p><p>“Iinah hassas ya ‘abi.” (it’s tickly, daddy.)</p><p>He chuckles softly. “Fiela?” (Is it?) Abi lowers that leg into back into the water and holds his hand out again. “Aintazar, sa’usaeiduk ealaa alwuquf.” (take hold, I’ll help you stand.)</p><p>Two little hands curl around his, and he pulls him up onto his feet, thanking Oren’s extra thinking, when he sees a wash cloth on the bed too, and reaches over for it, he does not want to use the scrub brush on the sensitive places, so he lathers the cloth with soap, and gently rubs the boy’s front private clean, and reaches around him to get his bottom, rubs it over his belly, wiggling the fingers of his free hand over the chubby belly to make him giggle once more, and helps him sit back down, raising his arms to get under there, and washing down his arms, taking great care as he rubs his face clean.</p><p>He drapes the cloth over the edge of the tub, after wringing it out, and twirls his finger in a slight circle. “Aistadar ya tifla.” (Turn around, child.)</p><p>Isa nods, carefully turning himself around, his back facing his abi, and he only stiffens for a moment when fingers curl around the of his neck, and around his shoulder, pulling him backwards. He closes his eyes as water is poured over his head, and feels fingers rubbing soap into his curls gently, and then more water is poured over his head to rinse out the soap.</p><p>“Anthit, laqad ‘ubliat bla’an hsnana, ‘ayuha alsaghir, hal ‘ant mustaeidun lilakhuruja?” (Finished, you did very well, little one, are you ready to come out?)</p><p>The little Nephilim turns back around, nodding silently, raising his arms slightly. “Jahiz ‘abi.” (Ready, daddy.)</p><p>Abi smiles at him, tapping him on the nose lightly, and pushes himself to his feet, leaning over to curl his fingers around his middle, lifting him from the tub and up into his arms, curling an arm under his bottom to hold him, he reaches for the towel on the bed, curling it around the small boy’s frame. “Hal min al’afdal ‘an takun nzyfana ‘ayuha alsaghir?” (Does it feel better to be clean, little one.)</p><p>Isa smiles at him. “Asheur bitahasun ya ‘abi.” (I feel better, daddy.)</p><p>“Hasan jidana.” (Very good) He pats his bottom softly with his free hand. “Hal ‘ant jayie ya bunaya?” (Are you hungry, my son?)</p><p>The small boy nods slightly. “Nem ‘abi.” (Yes, daddy.)</p><p>Raphael nods, turning to a passing healer, stopping them midstep. <strong>“Ut vis mihi aliquid ad gustandum?”</strong></p><p>The healer nods. <strong>“Etiam, domine.” (Yes, sir.)</strong></p><p>
  <strong>“Gratias tibi.” (Thank you.)</strong>
</p><p>He watches as the healer heads off, to fetch them some supper, and turns his attention back to the boy on his arm. “Daena nartadi mulabisak ya saghir.” (Let’s get you clothed, little one.)</p><p>Isa nods. “Hasanana ‘abi.” And he’s set to stand on the bed, the blanket is soft under his clean toes, and he looks down at it in wonder, he’s never felt something so soft before. “Khat fi hadhih, alaibn alsaghir.” (Step into these, little son.) He looks up from the blanket under foot, stepping into the undergarment his abi holds open for him, carefully, holding on to his shoulders, watching as abi reaches for the long tunic next to him. “Yarfae ydy saghirti.” (arms up, my little one.)</p><p>He raises his arms, closing his eyes as the soft tunic is pulled down over him, over his head, and looks down, it’s long, longer then his shendyt was, it end just above his knees, he brushes his fingers down the front. “iinaa naaeimat ya ‘abi.” (It’s soft, daddy.)</p><p>“Fielaan?” (Is it?) Abi rubs a finger over his nose and he looks up, smiling at up at him, raising his arms. “Hal ‘ahbabt dhlk?” (Do you like it?)</p><p>The small boy nods, flexing his fingers, wanting to be held again. “’ana uhibu dhlk ya ‘abi.” (I like it, daddy.) He flexes his fingers again. (Fawq ‘abi!” (Up, daddy!”</p><p>Raphael smiles at the boy, sweeping him up, fingers curled around his ribs, lifting him above his head, the boy giggles happily, his little fingers curling around his wrists. “’awh, turid miniy ‘an ‘ahdinak, ‘ayuha alsasghir?” (Oh, you want me to hold you, little one?)</p><p>Isa nods, smiling brightly, reaching down for him. “Uriduk ‘an tumsikani ya ‘abi.” (I want you to hold me, daddy.)</p><p>The Archangel pulls the small Nephilim close, an arm curling under his bottom, to keep him in place, and the other arm curling around his back, his hand cradling his head, pushing it down to rest on his shoulder, his curls brushing over the side of his neck, and his arm curls around his lower back then, squeezing him close for a moment. “sa’ajealak qrybana mink, ya saghirati, kayf fatini wujudak bayn dhiraei.” (I shall hold you close, my little one, how I’ve missed having you in my arms.)</p><p>The Nephilim curls his fingers in the front of his robes. “Aishtaqat ‘iiayk ya ‘abia, shkrana lak ealaa ‘akhdi min dhlk almakan, han alshuyukh litifin, lukunahum Im yakunuu ‘ant ya ‘abi.” (I missed you, daddy, thank you for taking me from that place, the elders were nice, but they weren’t you, daddy.)</p><p>A warm large hand rubs his back softly. “laqad khatatat daymana li’akhadhik mn hdha almakan, watakririk, wa’ana asif ‘ana al’amr aistaghraq wqtana twylaan, waju Im yakun yurid ‘ay alnafilim huna, lkn yumkinuni faqat almshahdt min baeid lifatrat tawilat, ‘akhbarath ‘anani ‘ahdaruk ‘iilaa huna, bghd alnazar eamaa qala, wajit li’akhadhik bi’asrae ma yumkin.” (I always planned on taking you from that place, freeing you, I am sorry it took so long, your grandfather did not want any Nephilim here, but I could only watch from afar for so long, I told Him I was bringing you here, no matter what He said, and I came to get you, as fast as I could.)</p><p>Small fingers knead into his chest softly. “Ma hu alnafilim, ‘abi?” (What’s a Nephilim, daddy?)</p><p>“nfylym hu abn ‘iisan wamalak, ‘ant abn ‘iinsan warayiys malayikat, ‘ant nfylym.” (A nephilim is the child of a human and an angel, you are the son of a human and an Archangel, you are a nephilim.)</p><p>“Ya,” (oh) Isa falls silently for a moment. “’abi hal tughni ly?” (daddy, will you sing to me?”</p><p>He hears his abi chuckle softly, he likes abi’s chuckle, it’s deep and soft, and his hand pats his back softly, before rubbing again. “Nem, ya saghirati sa’ughni lika.” (yes, my little one, I will sing for you.) The little Nephilim smiles, he likes it when abi sings more then when abi chuckles, his voice is deep and soft, a soft hum, a soft roll of thunder, it’s calming, it makes him feel peaceful.</p><p>
  <em>“salayna edt laya</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Biden dalil yumkin li’ayi shakhs</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Samaeah</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Fi qulubina raja’an aghnia</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Balkhad fahamana”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>(Many nights we prayed</em>
</p><p>
  <em>With no proof anyone could hear</em>
</p><p>
  <em>In our hearts a fope for a song</em>
</p><p>
  <em>We barely understood)</em>
</p><p>He listens, closing his eyes, he’s not sleepy, he just closes his eyes, little fingers still kneading at abi’s chest. He remembers this song, this melody, abi used to sing it to him all the time.</p><p>
  <em>“Alan nahn lasna khayifin </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Raghm ‘anana naelam ‘ana knak alkthyr</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Mimaa nakhshah</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Kunna nuharik aljibal</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Qabl waqt tawil min ealimna ‘anana nastatie”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>(now we are not afraid </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Although we know there’s much to fear</em>
</p><p>
  <em>We were moving mountains long before we knew we could)</em>
</p><p>Raphael sees his healers, those closest, pause in their actions, listening, they’ve never heard him sing before, they’ve heard him hum to himself, to the patients, but never sing, he sees them watching and listening from the corner of his eye. But, he pays them no mind, holding his small child close, rubbing at his back, feeling his small fingers kneading into his chest, he focuses on that, he’d been asked to sing, so he would sing, he doesn’t quite mind who hears.</p><p>
  <em>“ymkn ‘an takun hunak muejazat </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Eindama tuamin rghm ‘ana al’amal deaf</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Min alsaeb alqatl</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Min yadri ma almuejazat</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Yumkinuk tahqiquh eindama tuamin</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Bitariqat ma satafeal</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Sawf tafeal eindama tuamin”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>(there can be miracles</em>
</p><p>
  <em>When you believe</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Though hopeis frail</em>
</p><p>
  <em>It’s hard to kill</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Who knows what miracles </em>
</p><p>
  <em>You can achieve</em>
</p><p>
  <em>When you believe</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Somehow you will</em>
</p><p>
  <em>You will when you believe)</em>
</p><p>He feels a presence coming closer and closer, he spares them a glance, Akriel smiles at him, gesturing for him to continue, and he smiles in return, turning his head back around, leaning his cheek against the boy’s forehead.</p><p>
  <em>“fi waqt alkhawf hdha</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Eindama tuthbit alsalat fi kthry min</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Al’ahyan eabathanaan</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Ybdw al’amal muthl tuyur alsayf</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Bsert kabirat bialttyirat baeidanaan</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Hataa alan ‘ana ‘aqafu huna qalbi mumtali jiddaan, la ‘astatie ‘an ‘ashrah”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>(in this time of fear</em>
</p><p>
  <em>When prayer so often proves in vain</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Hope seems like the summer birds</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Too swiftly flown away</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Yet now I’m standing here</em>
</p><p>
  <em>My hearts so full,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I can’t explain)</em>
</p><p>Isa smiles to himself, he missed abi’s deep melodies, his singing, he missed being in his arms, held so close, feeling safe from the harshness of the world. Abi always made him feel safe, feel comforted, feel better, he’d used to rock him to sleep in his arms, umi singing and humming softly in the room, he missed umi, he knew she wasn’t coming back, he knew she was with allah now, she was happy and safe again, and that’s all that mattered to him, that umi was happy and safe, because he had abi, abi to make him happy and safe, too.</p><p>
  <em>“albahth ean al’iiman walkilam</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Im ‘aetaqid ‘abadaan ‘iiani sa’aqul</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Ymkn ‘an takun hunak muejazat</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Eindama tuamin</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Ela alrghm min deaf al’amal</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Min alsaeb alqatl”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>(Seeking faith and speaking words </em>
</p><p>
  <em>I never thought I’d say</em>
</p><p>
  <em>There can be miracles when you believe</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Though hope is frail</em>
</p><p>
  <em>It’s hard to kill)</em>
</p><p>Raphael feels another’s presence, and looks over, Ephraim smiles at him mutely, and he smiles in return, of course his empath would come to investigate the heightened emotions. He feels the boy turn his head slightly, to see who he’s looking at, and he feels him tense, he’s quick to sooth him, rubbing his back softly, swaying softly, pressing his lips to his forehead, letting his grace wash over him, and he relaxes once more, his fledgling son comforted.</p><p>
  <em>“Min yadri ma almuejazat</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Yumkinuk tahqiq</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Einadama tuamin bitariqat ma satafeal</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Sawf tajeal eindama tuamin”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>(Who knows what miracle </em>
</p><p>
  <em>You can achieve </em>
</p><p>
  <em>When you believe somehow you will</em>
</p><p>
  <em>You will when you believe)</em>
</p><p>Akriel smiles, closing his eyes for a moment, he’s never heard his Archangel sing before, he’s heard him hum, sure, he’s always humming a melody under his breath, but never has he heard him sing. His voice is deep, melodious, gentle, and soft. He opens his eyes, turning to look at his younger brother, Ephraim smiles up at him, nodding, silently agreeing, and they turn back, watching their Archangel and the son, they hadn’t known existed.</p><p>
  <em>“La tahduth daymana eindama tus’al wamin alsahl alaistislam limakhawifk</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Walankun eindaa yaemik al’alm</em>
</p><p>
  <em>La ‘astatie ‘an’araa tariqak min khilal almatar</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Sawt saghir lakunah la yazal mrnana </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Yaqul al’amal qarib jiddaan”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>(They don’t always happen when you ask</em>
</p><p>
  <em>And it’s easy to give in to your fears</em>
</p><p>
  <em>But when you’re blinded by your pain</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Can’t see your way clear through the rain</em>
</p><p>
  <em>A small but still, resilient voice</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Says hope is very near)</em>
</p><p>Ephraim closes his eyes, just allowing himself to drift, drift in his Archangel’s deep melodious song, in the happiness and tranquility both Healer and boy feel, a sense of safety, and love, deep, deep love.</p><p>
  <em>“yumkin huduth almuejazat eindama</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Tuamin bdhlk</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Eidama tuamin</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Rghm ‘ana al’amal daeif</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Min alsaeb alqatl</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Min yadri ma almue jazat</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Yumkinuk tahqiq</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Eindama tuamin bitariqat ma satafeal</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Alan satafeal</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Sawf tafael eindama bitariqat ma satafeal</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Sawf tafeal eindama tuamin”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>(There can be miracles </em>
</p><p>
  <em>When you believe</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Though hope is frail</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Its hard to kill</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Who knows what miracles</em>
</p><p>
  <em>You can achieve</em>
</p><p>
  <em>When you believe somehow you will</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Now you will</em>
</p><p>
  <em>You will when you believe)</em>
</p><p>The Archangel looks up at the movement once more, the young healer returning with a plate, the supper he had requested for his child.</p><p>
  <em>“Sawf tafeal eindama tuamin.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>(You will when you believe)</em>
</p><p>Isa shifts, lifting his head from abi’s shoulder, smiling up at him. “Shukraan lak ya ‘abia ashtaqat lak wa’ant tughni li, aishtaqat lak wa’ant tamasuk bi.” (thank you, daddy, I missed you singing to me, I missed you holding me)</p><p>Raphael presses their foreheads together, pecking the tip of the small boy’s nose, making him giggle softly. “Fatani hula’ ‘aydana.” (I missed those, too) He curls his fingers around the back of the boy’s head, his palm pressing to the back of his neck, and shifts him to rest on his hip, turning to his two Virtues, gesturing for the young healer to set the plate down on the bedside table. <strong>“Vultis venire ad aliquem ut auferat accipere tub?” (Will you get someone to come take the tub away?)</strong></p><p>The young healer nods, stepping around him to set the plate down on the bedside table, and steps back around him. <strong>“Etiam, domine.” (yes, sir)</strong></p><p>The Archangel nods in thanks, turning back to his two Virtues, he smiles in return to their smiles, stroking a hand down the side of his child’s head. <strong>“Akriel malum, Ephraim, et ostende te frui tuo?” (Akriel, Ephraim, did you enjoy your show?)</strong></p><p><strong>“Cum omni honore debito, Paulo, ut tu cantare non nostis.” (With all due respect, my archangel, I did not know you could sing.) </strong>Akriel smiles, waving a hand at him, and presses a hand to his heart cheekily. <strong>“Vox canora facta est cor tuum mihi volitantem.” (Your melodious voice made my heart flutter.)</strong></p><p>He chuckles softly, shaking his head, his Virtues were so cheeky, especially his oldest two. <strong>“Genae tuae custodi me, et ultra non erit et cor tuum mens praetrepidans avet, et non habebant alas tua in longa dum fortasse mutare me.” (Keep with your cheek and I will have more then your heart fluttering, I haven’t had at your wings in a while, perhaps I should change that.) </strong>He looks to his younger Virtue. <strong>“Uobis Ephraim operam facturum.” (You as well, Ephraim, you could do with some attention)</strong></p><p>The young Virtue’s eyes widen, he shakes his head, raising his hands defensively. <strong>“Nunc, nunc, ego non aliquid dicere, si quis dignus erit, ei illud.” (Now, now, I didn’t say anything, if anyone deserves it,” </strong>he gestures to his older brother. <strong>“Ei illud.” (It’s him.)</strong></p><p>Raphael chuckles lightly, reaching out slightly, stepping forward a small step, the younger angel squeaks, stepping back another step, leaning back. <strong>“O quam eius erit, et tu es ita tacere, suus ‘reficientibus videre te perdere risus.” (Oh, he will get his, but you, you’re so quiet, it’s refreshing to see you lose yourself to laughter.) </strong>He takes another step forward and Ephraim leans back further. <strong>“Ne forsitan, iustus ad invigilandum, tuum sit modus cape, mi puer Jure.” (perhaps I should, just to ensure your mood is lighthearted, my young Virtue.)</strong></p><p>Ephraim shakes his head again, stepping back before he can fall over backwards, raising his hands in a defensive manner. <strong>“Nunc autem Raph, vos discedite a me cape, mea modus est, ut ego non opus auxilium tuum.” (Now, now Raph, you stay away from me, my mood is lighthearted, I don’t need your help in that.)</strong></p><p><strong>“Ineptias.” (Nonsense.) </strong>Akriel smiles, snorting softly, when his Archangel’s fingers curl in the front of his younger brother’s robes, tugging him forward and around, leaning over, pushing him down on the bed next to them. <strong>“Vos could uto auxilium semper cursus in mente manus tua cape.” (You could always use assistance in ensuring your mood stays lighthearted.) </strong></p><p>
  <strong>“Raph: non, non!” (Raph, no, don’t!”</strong>
</p><p><strong>“Semper parva semper.” (Always, little one, always.) </strong>He presses his fingers to the second youngest Virtues forehead, Ephraim arches his back, shrieking softly, bright hysterical laughter exploding from him. <strong>“Ipsum bonum.” (very good.)</strong></p><p>“Abi, quare rides?” (Daddy, why is he laughing.)</p><p>Akriel smiles at the sound of the small voice, and the Healer looks down over to his little one, reaching around to stroke his cheek lightly. “iinah hassas, mathlik.” (He is ticklish, like you.)</p><p>His mental specialist steps forward. <strong>“Hoc unum modicum est, et nuntiavit nobis de Aran, filim tuum parum?” (Is this the little one Oren told us about, your little son?)</strong></p><p>Raphael smiles at him and turns to look at the small Nephilim resting on his hip, Isa smiles up at him, leaning in, to kiss him on the cheek. “Shukraan lak ‘ayatuha alsaghirat.” (Thank you, little one.) He tilts his head slightly, kissing him on the cheek in return, before turning his attention back to his Virtue. <strong>“Hoc est, mi caram puero suo nomen Esaiam, vocamus eum Esaj.” (It is, my precious child, his name is Isaiah, we call him Isa.)</strong></p><p>Isa leans into his abi when the other man’s eyes turn to him, and abi pats him on the thigh lightly, asking for his attention, and he turns to look at him. “Hadha ‘akril, abnayi, hu shaqiq ‘awrayna, ‘iinah latif, yuhibu min kuli qalbah, qul lah mrhbaan.” (This is Akriel, my son, he is Oren’s brother. He is nice, loves with all his heart, say hello to him.)</p><p>The small Nephilim turns back to the other angel, Akriel, abi said his name was, and waves his small hand shyly. “Marhabaan akrayiyl.” (Hello, Akriel.)</p><p>Akriel smiles, waving in return. “Marhabaan eisaa alsaghir.” (Hello, little Isa.)</p><p>The boy reaches out with his finger, Raphael chuckles softly, and his Virtue steps forward, smiling when little fingers pet his beard lightly. Akriel curls his fingers around the small appendage, pressing his lips to his fingertips, then to his palm. Isa giggles, curling his fingers in the angel’s whiskers, giggling again when he squeaks playfully, when he tugs lightly on his whiskers. “Shaeirati murfaqat, ya saghirati, min fadlik la tujir.” (My whiskers are attacked, little one, please don’t tug.) The little one tugs lightly again, and he squeaks once more, reaching out to poke him in the belly, eliciting a bright giggle from the fledgling Nephilim. “Saghirati, ‘ana ‘uhdhiruk, shaeirati eibaratan ean shaeirat dayiriat, ‘iidha wasalat altajadhub, sa’adtur ‘iilaa ‘iizhar.” (Little one, I’m warning you, my whiskers are tickly whiskers, if you keep tugging, I’ll be forced to show you.) The boy tugs again and he chuckles. “Ant tutlibuh hqana, ‘ayuha alsaghir.” (you’re really asking for it, little one.)</p><p>Abi chuckles deeply, softly, and adjusts his grip on the boy, holding him out to his Virtue, speaking his language so he knows what he’s saying, dangling him between them. “Rubama yjb ‘an tariah, hataa yaerif ma sayahduth ‘iidha shada shaeiratik.” (Perhaps you should show him, so he knows what’s to come if he tugs on your whiskers.)</p><p>The second oldest Virtue smiles lightly, looking over the boy’s shoulder, to his father. “Rubama ‘anaa?” (May I?)</p><p>His Archangel nods. “Yumkanuk.” (You may.)</p><p>“Shukraan lak ya rayiys almalayikat.” (Thank you, my archangel.) Akriel steps forward, and Isa giggles brightly, kicking out with his little feet. “La! La shaeirat daghdagha! La shaeirat daghdagha!” (No! No tickly whiskers! No tickly whiskers!)</p><p>Akriel catches his feet with his hands, curling the fingers of one hand around his small ankles, and lifts his long tunic up with the fingers of his free hand. His small chubby belly shakes with his giggles, and his Archangel raises him just a bit high, so he doesn’t have to bend too much, and the mental specialist leans forward, burying his face in the little Nephilim’s belly, shaking his head slowly, rubbing his beard in torturously. Isa shrieks softly, his giggles turning to bright laughter, his little fingers curling in the Virtues hair as he tried to push him away. “Lahahahahaha! La shahahaeiraahahahhaat dahahaghdaahahahaghahhahhat!” (Nohohoho! No tihihihickly whihihihiskers!)</p><p>Raphael lets him have his fun for a short couple minutes, relishing in the bright childlike laughter, chuckling softly when his Virtue blows playfully over his little son’s belly, and the boy squeals softly. <strong>“Licuit, Akriel: Ego enim didici in sua doctrina.” (Alright, Akriel, I think he’s learned his lesson.)</strong></p><p>The mental specialist nods, against his boy’s belly, and pulls away, pulling his long tunic back down, reaching up for the little hands curled in his hair, curling them in his fingers. “Hal satajdhib shaeirati maratan ‘ukhraa?” (Are you going to tug on my whiskers again?)</p><p>“La! La! Abda!” (No! No! Never!)</p><p>“Hasan jiddaan,” (very good), Akriel pokes him in the belly. “Sati min ajl dhlk dhlk albatn alsaghir maratan ‘ukhraa, raghm dhlk, la bd li min dhalik.” (I’ll come for that little tummy again, though, I must.)</p><p>The Archangel smiles, pulling the small Nephilim back to him, his small back pressing to his chest, one arm curled under his bottom and the other around his waist. “Fi waqt lahiq, han waqt aleasha’, thuma alnuwm.” (At a later time, it’s time for supper, the for bed.) He presses his lips to the boy’s head. “Madha yjb ‘an yanadik ya ‘akriil, laqad hasal ‘uwrin balfel ealaa laqad al’akh al’akbar.” (What should he call you, Akriel, Oren has already claimed the title of big brother.)</p><p>Akriel rolls his eyes, because of course his older brother would, but smiles. “Yumkinuk alaitisal bi ‘akhi ‘ak.” (You can call me brother Ak.) He nods to the younger softly shrieking angel on the bed next to them, their Archangel is a cruel being, there’s no telling when he’ll let his poor little brother go, and it’s especially cruel to go for his wings. “Wadaeuh ‘akhi ‘af.” (And, call him brother Eph.)</p><p>Isa nods, giggling softly, leaning his head back against abi’s chest. “Hsnana, ‘akhi Ak.” (Okay, brother Ak.)</p><p>The boy giggles again when the angel bows playfully, reaching out to poke him in the belly again. “Sa’arak maratan ‘ukhraa ya saghirati, lkn fi alwaqt alhalii, namat jydana, kan min aljayd muqabilatak.” (I’ll see you again, little one, but for now, sleep well, it was nice to meet you.)</p><p>The small Nephilim waves at him. “Saeidt biliqayik aydana ya ‘akhi ‘ak.” (Nice to meet you too, brother Ak.)</p><p>Akriel smiles at him, turning his attention to his Archangel, gesturing to his younger brother. <strong>“Habere aliquam miserere eum in aliquo puncto.” (Have some mercy on him, at some point.)</strong></p><p><strong>“Et fortasse paulo aliter: Ego vox pateant cursus risus.” (I will, perhaps in another few minutes, I’ve missed the sound of his carefree laughter.) </strong>Raphael smiles down at the shrieking younger angel arching and squirming around, trying to reach back for his shoulders, he can see his wings, in the ethereal plane, fluttering under their playful torment. <strong>“Ut semper Suspendisse sed post eam.” (It’s always been rather fun to go after him.)</strong></p><p>
  <strong>“Quod Vadam, miserere in aliquo puncto perum, est ex vobis omnibus peto.” (That’s alright, a little mercy at some point, is all I ask.)</strong>
</p><p>The Archangel nods, looking down at his small child, patting him on the belly lightly. <strong>“In aliquo puncto quidem.” (At some point, indeed.)</strong></p><p>Akriel smiles, bowing again, just to make the Nephilim child giggle, and waves in farewell, as he steps away.</p><p>He looks down to his son, stroking a finger up under his chin, and the boy turns slightly to look up at him. “Daeuna natanawal aleasha’, thuma nadhhab ‘iilaa alfarash maeak.” (Let’s eat supper, then it’s off to bed with you.)</p><p>Isa curls his fingers around the fingers curled around his belly. “Abi, satabqaa maeia, ‘alays kdklk?” (Daddy, you’ll stay with me, right?)</p><p>The fingers around his belly turn, curling around his, their fingers threaded together. “Ana la ‘atruk janibuk li’ayi shay’, In yumziqani shay’ janibik.” (I’m not leaving your side for anything; nothing will tear me away from your side.) He turns the boy around, holding him close, small arms wrap around his neck. “In ‘ashmah lak bialdhahab ‘iilaa ‘ayi shay’, sa’ahmaluk bayn dhiraei li’utawil fatrat mumkina.” (I’m not letting you go for anything, I will hold you in my arms, for as long as I can.)</p><p>“Ahbik, baba.” (I love you, daddy.)</p><p>“Ahbik aydana ya taflay alghali alhabibu.” (I love you too, my precious, beloved child.) Isa feels lips press to the side of his head. “Kathiraan jiddaan.” (So very much.)</p><p>Raphael taps Ephraim on the temple before he settles himself and his child in their own bed, the young Virtue lays on the other bed limply, his chest heaving as he gulps in breaths of air, giggling still from the residual tingles in his wings, and he reaches for the plate on the bedside table, reaching around to set it in the small child’s lap, chicken and potatoes, a filling meal for a little one. “Akl, ya saghirati, ealayna alhusul ealaa bed alluhum ealaa tilk aleizam.” (eat up, my little one, we’re got to get some meat on those bones.)</p><p>The small Egyptian Nephilim scoops up a small mouthful of potatoes, and cautiously slips it in his mouth, humming in pleasure, he scoops up a bit more. “iinah jayid jdana ya ‘abi.” (It’s very good, daddy.)</p><p>“Jayid, jayid jiddaan, ‘ant takul hashu alkhasi bika. ‘ant nahif lilghayat.” (Good, very good, you eat your fill. You’re much too thin.) Long warm fingers curl around his belly again. “Qul li mataa turid sharabak, wasa’ahdiruh lika.” (Tell me when you want your drink, and I will get it for you.)</p><p>“Hasanana aby.” (Okay, daddy.)</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0026"><h2>26. The Creation Of A Supercell</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Everyone turns at the loud snap that echoes through the room, to the back of the room, where the sound came from.</p><p>
  <em>“Isaiah.”</em>
</p><p>Their Archangel’s voice rumbles around them, like a rumble of thunder in a rain storm, and those close enough step forward to see, curiousness taking over. Their being there goes ignored, as Archangel and Nephilim stare at each other, their eyes widening at the sight of the Healer’s staff, broken in half, two pieces, the two ends clutched tightly in the boy’s fingers. The building shakes from the force of the thunder that booms around them, and none of them who are sure who causes it, father or son, both are a likely suspect.</p><p>Isa growls, chucking the two ends of the Healer’s staff at his father, Raphael raises his arms to block his face, turning his head to the side, as that’s what was aimed for, to hit him in the head, or the face, and the two pieces of his broken staff smack against his arms, and clatter to the floor.</p><p>“Oh, <em>now </em>you notice me!” The Nephilim throws his arms up. “Because, I <em>broke </em>your <em>precious</em> staff!” His eyes flicker dangerously, it’s not good if he were to lose control inside, he’d destroy the place, his storms usually produced tornados, when he was enraged, and he was now, enraged. “You <em>noticed </em>me being here because of <em>that</em>!” Electricity climbs up his arms. “I’ve been here for <em>two weeks</em>, hell, I even <em>followed </em>you around, and you <em>didn’t </em>even <em>acknowledge </em>me!”</p><p>“Isa—”</p><p><strong><em>“No, I’m talking now!” </em></strong>Their eyes widen at the sound of his voice, echoing around them, traveling through the air in the room, robotic in tone, and the building shakes as another loud crash of thunder booms around them, they look up, when dust sprinkles down from the ceiling. <strong><em>“You forgot about me! AGAIN! What kind of father forgets their own child!” </em></strong>His eyes aren’t glowing, swallowed by the consumption of his rage fueled power, so there’s some semblance of control still, as he stalks forward, his fists curled tightly. Raphael watches him apprehensively, even he had trouble controlling the child when he lost his temper, a deadly mixture of his own and his mothers. <strong><em>“I hate you! I HATE YOU!” </em></strong>The Nephilim child pulls his arm back and throws it around, punching his father as hard as he can in the stomach, now, typically, those sorts of things didn’t phase their Archangel, but this one has him wheezing, his breath torn from him, as he bends forward from the force of the impact, his green eyes meeting the blazing blue of his son’s. <strong><em>“I wish I had mom instead of you!”</em></strong></p><p>They watch in silence, making sure to keep their distance, as the Nephilim steps around his father and stalks down the aisle, his eyes staring straight ahead, not taking notice of any of them, and he disappears in the torrents of rain falling outside the doors, and they turn back to their Archangel, his face buried in his hands. They hate to take sides, but the boy was right, on all points.</p><p>Minutes pass, and he just stands there, his face buried in his hands, and then his shoulders heave, inhaling deeply, and he moves, bending over to pick up the pieces of his staff, he can fix it, they know he can, it wasn’t the first time it’d been broken, and he leans over to set them on his desk. They’re quick to look away, returning to their tasks, busying themselves, when he turns around.</p><p>Their Archangel looks down at his hands, for a long moment, only looking up when Michael runs in, calling his name.</p><p>…</p><p>148 tornadoes, ranging from F4 to F5 severity, so far, 319 people dead, as reported by Death himself, and it was all his fault, he was the cause of all this damage, he was the cause of all that loss of life, he was solely responsible.  Lucifer’s there, Adam sitting on his shoulders, hovering in the air, his wings keeping them afloat, trying to spread as much cold air as they can, to negate the warm front that’s causing the combatant in the atmosphere, but their efforts are matched with just as much heated air, the storm strengthening. This is the biggest storm his child has ever created, the strongest, it’s a supercell, he can feel it’s strength as they draw nearer. Gabriel’s above Lucifer, his twins using their pagan magic to be at his side, trying to control the wind speed, to slow it down, to break the mesocyclone, they’re succeeding, slightly, but they’re equally matched by the storm bringer’s enraged son.</p><p>Storms are his domain, he controls them, any and all types, the weather responds to his emotion, especially his temper, thunderstorms represent his anger, and this control was passed down to his child, one who’s anger builds and builds, admittedly he does not have good coping methods when it comes to extreme emotions, his anger builds silently, strengthening, until it finally explodes.</p><p>Hurricane Katrina, August 2005.</p><p>The super outbreak of 1974.</p><p>The super outbreak of 2011.</p><p>The Great Galveston Hurricane, September 1900.</p><p>Sea Islands Hurricane, August 1983.</p><p>Okeechobee Hurricane, September 1928.</p><p>Hurricane Maria, September 2017.</p><p>The Great Hurricane of 1780, that had claimed the lives of over twenty-two thousand people.</p><p>Hurricane Mitch, 1998.</p><p>Isa has a tendency for hurricanes, those were his apparent specialty, his second was tornados. It was rare for him to produce supercells, extremely rare, and it was a sign that he was beyond reasoning, he had completely let go of his control, and let his power consume him.</p><p>Michael hovers next to him, pointing out the dim speck of a body covered in swirling lightning hidden by the swirling winds and heavy rains of the mesocyclone. “We’ve tried getting his attention, he’s not listening, he just hovers there, strengthening the storm around him.”</p><p>Raphael nods grimly. “I will put a stop to this.”</p><p>His oldest brother nods, leaving his side, as his eyes remain on his son, his enraged son, whose loss of control is completely his fault.</p><p><strong>“Isaiah, stop this.” </strong>Like his son’s does, his voice travels through the storm, echoing around them like the booming of thunder, deeper than the boy’s. He knows he’s heard, he sees the figure turn, glowing blue eyes peer at him from within the mesocyclone. <strong>“Stop this at once.”</strong></p><p><strong><em>“I hate you!” </em></strong> The boy reels his arm back, a bright bolt forming in his hand, he turns his eyes away from him, and focuses on his Uncle. <strong><em>“Stop messing with my storm!” </em></strong></p><p>Raphael’s eyes widen as he throws a bolt of lightning at Lucifer, the Morningstar’s eyes widen, Adam ducks and turns, curling his arms around his head, and opens his wings wide, swooping up, catching the bolt before it can strike them, it tingles in his hand, and he drops it, letting it fade into the storm under them.</p><p>
  <strong>“How <em>dare </em>you attack your Uncle and cousin. Isaiah, stop this nonsense, control yourself.”</strong>
</p><p><strong><em>“How about you come down here and make me, you asshole!” </em></strong>Isa forms another bolt in his hand and throws it. <strong><em>“Fight me, you coward!”</em></strong></p><p>The Healer’s raises his eyebrows at the audacity, at the direct challenge, he understands his son’s anger, it’s completely justified, but to take it out on so many innocents, that is crossing a line that should never be crossed, they are not cruel beings. He forms his own lightning bolt, larger and stronger than his son’s, and throws it, like one does a javelin, and they watch as it collides with the Nephilim’s, the two bolts exploding at contact.</p><p>He does not want to fight his own son, his child, he refuses to, he just won’t do it.</p><p>Tucking his wings in closely, he dives, falling freely, he catches a bolt thrown at him and throws it back, it throws the boy off balance, his arms coming up to deflect it, and he breaks through the mesocyclone. Isa’s eyes widen, flickering back to normal, and he shouts when they collide. He wraps his arms around the boy tightly as they continue to free fall, not inhibited by the boy’s struggles, his squirming and pushing. “No! Let me go! Let me go! No! Let me go!”</p><p>Who is he to deny his son’s demands. “Fine.” And he lets go, sweeping his wings open, catching himself, watching the boy, screaming as he free falls through the air, his arms spread in surprise, that his father had actually let go of him. He looks away from him, they’re high up, he has no chance of hitting the ground for the minutes it’ll take him to clean this mess up, he raises his arm, rotating his hand, dissipating the storm around them, it calms into a rain shower.</p><p>Raphael looks back down, at his screaming falling child, just a few minutes longer, let him learn this lesson, no matter how justified his anger is, all actions have consequences. “Okay, that’s enough.” He tucks his wings back in, and dives again, following the boy. Isa’s reaching for him, screaming in terror, and he closes the distance between them quickly, catching the child in his arms. He curls around him like a koala, his legs curling around his waist and his arms around his neck, as tightly as he can, sobbing into the crook of his shoulder. The Archangel turns them over, the boy on top of him, and cradles the back of his head with his right hand, letting them continue to free fall, simply because he likes the feeling, for a few more minutes. Isa is soaking wet from the rain, now that his concentration is broken, he keeps himself dry, he doesn’t want to have to change.</p><p>After a few minutes of free falling, he opens his massive wings, stopping them midair, catching them, and they come to a pause. His son is still sobbing into his neck, he can feel the tears soaking his skin, and he scratches at the back of his head as he looks up, flapping his wings to make the journey back up, to where the others are.</p><p>Adam and the twins look upset to see their cousin so upset.</p><p>“Did you have to let him fall?” Michael sounds disapproving. “That’s cruel, Raph.”</p><p>The third born looks over at him. “He said to let him go, so I did.”</p><p>“Well,” Lucifer sounds amused. “That sounds like a good enough reason to me.”</p><p>Adam’s eyes widen at the tone, he knows that tone, and screams when his dad let’s go of his ankles, tossing him backwards, letting him free fall away from them. Lucifer looks down, watching his child fall, chuckling to himself. “Brat deserves it, nearly choked me, with how tight he’d curled his legs around my neck.”</p><p>“Lucifer.” Michael chides softly, watching his nephew fall through a cloud, shaking his head. “That wasn’t nice.”</p><p>“Oh, come off it, I happen to know, for a <em>fact</em>, that you’ve let Austin free fall, at least <em>five </em>times.”</p><p>The oldest Archangel hums, but doesn’t disagree, nodding slightly. “What can I say, it amuses me.”</p><p>“It amuses all of us.” Gabriel intones. “They’re just fun to mess with.” The twins try to part from his sides, but he catches them, tapping them both between the shoulders, and they scream as they drop, their pagan magic cancelled out by a touch of their father’s grace. “It’s great fun.”</p><p>They watch the children scream as they fall for a few minutes, disappearing into a cloud, Lucifer and Gabriel laugh softly, pulling their wings in, diving after the children.</p><p>It <em>is </em>great fun.</p><p>The children enjoy it, despite their screaming, they always ask them to drop them again, and who are they to deny such a request.</p><p>Isa enjoys it, he let him fall a bit more then he should have, though, and that’s on him.</p><p>Raphael scratches the back of his son’s head lightly, looking up to his older brother. “I’m taking him home.”</p><p>“Of course, take good care of him,” Michael nods. “You’ve been rather neglectful as of late.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0027"><h2>27. A Dozen Spots Or More</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They think he doesn’t see; they think they’re so sneaky, that they can get away with something under his watchful eye, he can see their actions from the other end of the massive room, and he narrows his eyes at them all. The group of Nephilim are at his desk whispering amongst each other, Isa sitting in his chair, Austin and Adam leaning against the edge of the desk at his sides, the twins sitting side by side in front of them, their back’s facing him. He watches closely as Jack reaches around to scratch at his twin’s back, and Danny reaches around to return the favor, the sixth time they’ve done this in the last thirty minutes, Adam scratches at his arm, Austin scratches at his stomach, he can’t see his own son, but he sees his elbow moving, so he knows he’s scratching.</p><p>Quite peculiar.</p><p>He’s not a man who believes in coincidences.</p><p>Humming to himself, he turns to his Captain. “Oren, can you handle things here?”</p><p>Oren looks up at him, nodding mutely, and returns to the chart he’s reading through. Taking that as his confirmation, he departs, making his way through the rows of beds, his query is the twins, they’re the easiest to get to. They both yelp in unison, when he tugs the back of their shirts up, looking over their shoulders at him. “Uncle Raph!”</p><p>He spares them a glance. “Hush.” And hums softly when he sees them, the spots, or more accurately, the pox. “Just as I thought, I’ve been watching you all scratching for the last half an hour, you two,” he leans in close, curling his arms around their waists, and pulls them off his desk, setting them on their feet, gesturing to the two beds nearest them. “Into those beds, go on.”</p><p>Jack turns to look at him, catching his twin’s hand, they’re always touching, in some manner. “Can we….?”</p><p>Raphael nods lightly. “Yes, you may push the beds together.”</p><p>“Thanks, Uncle Raph!” The twins exclaim in complete unison, darting away, side by side, one’s never far from the other, and he smiles at their backs, shaking his head fondly, turning back to the other three. “You,” he points a finger at the blonde, wagging his finger at him, gesturing for him to come. “Come here.”</p><p>Adam nods obediently, crossing out from behind his desk, coming to stand before him. He doesn’t have to look too hard to spot them, they’re spread around his pale face, and he touches a gentle finger to one on his cheek. “You, take the bed next to the twins.”</p><p>“Yes, Uncle Raph.”</p><p>The blonde turns silently, and he rubs his back soothingly as he departs, kicking his blue hightops off, scratching at his leg. “Adam, no scratching.” And immediately stops, crawling under the blankets, he lays against the pillow, the boy must not feel well, he’d good at hiding it, just like his father.</p><p>The Healer turns back to the remaining two, pointing at his oldest brother’s child, Austin points at himself, and he nods, wagging a finger, gesturing for him to step up. The dark haired boy nods, murmuring something to his cousin as he steps out from behind his desk, he turns his attention to the boy before him, but is not so distracted as to not catch his own child by the collar of his jacket, after he’s jumped over his desk, planning to make his escape while the opportunity presented itself. “Not so fast, you.” Isa mumbles under his breath, and he tugs him around, tucking him into his side, as he lifts the front of Austin’s hoodie, nodding at the sight of the red pox, and gestures in the direction of the beds his cousins have taken. “You, take the bed next to Adam.”</p><p>“Okay, Uncle Raph.”</p><p>He watches him make his way over, and turns to his own child, smiling down at him. “How do you feel, my little one?”</p><p>“As right as rain, dad.”</p><p>The Archangel raises an eyebrow at him, and Isa rubs the back of his head lightly, amending his statement. “My belly hurts and I’m all itchy.”</p><p>“That’s what I thought.” He leans over, pressing a kiss to his forehead, scratching lightly at the back of his head. “You should have told me, Isa.”</p><p>The Nephilim looks down, scuffing his sneaker on the stone floor, sighing deeply, before looking back up at him. “I didn’t want to burden you.”</p><p>Raphael hums softly, squeezing him close. “Isa, we’ve talked about this, you are the farthest thing from a burden. If you don’t feel well, I want you to tell me, so I can help you feel better.”</p><p>“I’m sorry, daddy.”</p><p>“It’s of no matter. It’s in the past.” He rubs his arm soothingly. “Nothing to worry yourself about.” He guides the boy forward, to the bed on Austin’s other side, and leans over, smacking the boy’s hand lightly when he sees him scratching. “No scratching, Aus.”</p><p>“Sorry, Uncle Raph.”</p><p>He ruffles his soft dark locks. “Nothing to worry about, little one.”</p><p>Isa sits on the edge of his own bed, leaning over to untie his green hightops, shrugging his jacket off, he curls up on the bed, resting against the pillow, smiling when his dad tucks the blankets up around his shoulders, and sits on the edge, brushing his curls back. “Tell me what else ails you, my little one.”</p><p>“Well, my belly hurts,” his child starts. “And, my throat hurts.”</p><p>“I got just what you need.” He scrunches up his face when his dad pokes him on the nose, leaning over for the cart between the beds, Isa watches him closely, as he opens a drawer. “Daddy, no shots.” His dad reaches over, to scratch the side of his head soothingly. “No shots, my son.” The Archangel finds what he’s look for, and turns back, pulling the cap off of a large dark bottle, pours a bit of the mysterious liquid into a small cup, and holds it out to him. “Drink this.” The Healer’s son nods, pushing himself up, he takes the cup, swallows it in one gulp, and makes a face at the taste. “Dad, that’s <em>gross</em>.”</p><p>Raphael rolls his eyes fondly. “You are a little fledgling.” He turns back to the cart, reaching in for something else, Isa watches him, still slightly fearful that he’s reaching for a shot, but sighs in relief when he pulls out a jar and spoon. Twisting the cap off, he scoops in with the spoon, holding it out for him. “Some honey, to get rid of the aftertaste.” The Egyptian Nephilim smiles, taking the spoonful of honey, humming happily, laying back against his pillow. “Thanks, daddy.”</p><p>“Always, my little one,” he holds both bottles with one hand and rubs his cheek with his other hand. “The medicine is going to make you sleepy, and I don’t want you to fight it, you’re going to need lots of sleep.”</p><p>“Okay, daddy.”</p><p>The Archangel smiles down at his son, stroking his cheek lightly with the backs of his fingers, before moving on to the next. Austin smiles up at him, and he returns the smile in kind, patting him on the belly. “Tell me what ails you, lions cub.”</p><p>His oldest brother’s child rubs at his nose. “The same as Isa.”</p><p>“I see, I’ve got just what you need, little nephew.” The Healer pours medicine in the small cup, and holds it out to him, the boy sits up, to gulp down the medicine, and makes an expression similar to his cousins, taking the spoonful of honey just as happily as he had as well. “Now, you settle down, and rest.” Austin lays back against his pillow, smiling up at his Uncle as he pulls the blankets up under his chin. “If you need anything, just call for me, alright?”</p><p>“Okay, Uncle Raph.”</p><p>“Very good,” he strokes his cheek in similar fashion he had with Isa, and moves on, hearing the boy sigh softly and turn to lay on his belly instead.</p><p>He sits on the edge of his second oldest brother’s son’s bed, the little Morningstar turns over, looking up at him. “I don’t feel good, Uncle Raph.”</p><p>The Archangel coos down at him softly, rubbing his cheek with a knuckle. “Tell Uncle Raph what ails you, and he’ll make it better, baby dragon.”</p><p>Adam rubs at his head lightly. “My head and belly hurt, Uncle Raph.”</p><p>Raphael nods lightly, patting his cheek softly. “Have no worries, Uncle Raph has just what you need, can you sit up for me?”</p><p>The blonde boy nods, pushing himself up, taking the cup of medicine when it’s held out for him, and taking the spoonful of honey just as happily as his two cousins had, and lays back against his pillow, nuzzling down when his Uncle tucks the blankets up around him. “Now, you get some rest, little dragon, if you need me, just call out.”</p><p>“Mmm, okay Uncle Raph.”</p><p>He comes to sit on the edge of the last bed, two beds, pushed together, the twins curled up together. He reaches out, brushing his fingers through the one twin’s honey brown locks. “How do you feel, little tricksters?”</p><p>“My belly hurts.”</p><p>“Mine too.”</p><p>“And my throat.”</p><p>“My throat too.”</p><p>What one has, the other usually has to, it makes his job easier. He pats Danny’s belly lightly. “Well, luckily, I have just what you need.” Both boys sit up, he holds the cup out to Danny first, he gulps it down and makes a face, then he passes it to his twin, Jack makes the same face once he swallows it, and gives them both a spoonful of honey. “There we are, now, you two, curl up like you do, and get some rest, alright?”</p><p>“Okay, Uncle Raph.” The respond in perfect sync. “Love you, Uncle Raph.”</p><p>The Archangel smiles lightly. “I love you two, too.” He scratches Danny’s head for a moment, and lean’s over to scratch at Jacks, they both purr like kittens. “If you need me, you just call, I’ll be over at my desk.”</p><p>“What are we doing when we wake up, Uncle Raph?”</p><p>He hums softly. “We’ll probably get you all into an oatmeal bath, it’ll help with the itchiness, once the medicine starts to fade, and we’ll get more of that into you as well, then it’s right back to bed.” He tucks the blankets up over them. “We’ll see how you’re all feeling when supper time rolls around.”</p><p>“Okay, Uncle Raph.”</p><p>“You’re the best, Uncle Raph.”</p><p>The Healer smiles down at them. “You’re the best little tricksters I know.” They smile up at him. “You get some rest.” They both nod, curling into each other once more, and he stands, twisting the cap back on the jar of honey, and the lid back on the bottle, and looks them all over carefully, sleeping peacefully under their blankets, and nods, turning around, making his way to his desk. He has no charts to work on, perhaps he’ll work on his journal, he hasn’t gotten to do that in a long while.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0028"><h2>28. Here's To Us</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When Gabriel had disappeared, the twins had gone to their uncles, when their uncles had disappeared, they turned to their cousins.</p><p>Austin grabbed his dad’s sword.</p><p>Adam took his dad’s trident.</p><p>Isa grabbed his dad’s bow and staff.</p><p>And the twins had their pagan magic.</p><p>Isa grew up as a hunter, having to hunt for his own food, he knew how to find tracks to follow. He was raised by the Healer, he knew a trail of grace when he saw one, and he pointed it out, waving for them to follow, he’d track them down, he knew he could.</p><p>They followed the trail down to Hell, through the corridors, they were careful not to attract unwanted attention, following the gloating voice to it’s epicenter. Adam bristled, as they peered into Hell’s throne room, he <em>hated </em>this Prince. Asmodeus was a little bitch who thought he was better then everyone else, the greatest thing since sliced bread, and he glared, frost spreading up the staff of his dad’s trident, when he saw him inject a needle into his dad’s neck, pulling the stopper back, withdrawing a syringe full of ice blue grace, and his dad groaned, falling forward weakly.</p><p>They’d been missing for a month, how long has this been happening, how long had he been siphoning their dads graces.</p><p>Isa leaned around under him, glaring daggers at the Hell Prince when he injected the needle into his dad’s neck, pulling emerald green grace from him, his dad didn’t make a sound, but he did bow his head.</p><p>The four Archangels, cuffed and chained to the floor, a buffet for the uppity Prince.</p><p>The pull away, turning to each other, huddling together, to form a game plan.</p><p>Austin takes lead. “Jack, Danny, how have you been doing on that puppet spell?”</p><p>“Oh, that old thing?” Jack waves a few fingers. “We’ve got that down, dude.”</p><p>Danny nods, bumping his fist with his twin. “To a fine art.”</p><p>“How many people can you control?”</p><p>The twins exchange looks. “We’ve never tried it on more than one person.”</p><p>Austin nods. “Well, today’s your day, as soon as we go in there, he’s going to call for reinforcements.”</p><p>The twins nod firmly. “We can do it broseph.”</p><p>“Good.” Michael’s son turns to his other cousin. “Isa, how have you bolts been coming along?”</p><p>“Strong and sizzling.”</p><p>“Cool,” they bump fists. “You’ll take lead.”</p><p>Isa gives him a thumbs up. “Got it.”</p><p>He turns to his best friend and cousin. “Adam, how has your ice been coming along?”</p><p>“I can devour people in it, I’ve never tried large groups, but I’ll willing to try now.”</p><p>“Cool, cool, we got this.” He sticks his hand out between them all, the twins grin, placing a hand over his, Isa’s dark hand covers theirs, and Adam’s pale hand covers his. “Let’s kick some demon ass.”</p><p>They raise their hands, breaking their circle, Adam halts them all with a raised hand, and turns to the Healer’s son. “Isa, I can melt my ice and cover the floor in water, can you conduct your electricity through the water.”</p><p>“Sure as hell.”</p><p>“Cool,” the Morningstar’s son turns to the others. “I’ll give the warning, when I do, if you guys are still in the water, you’ll be electrocuted, so make sure you’re out of the water.”</p><p>Austin nods, and the twins salute him. “Aye, sir.”</p><p>They gather in front of the doors, pulling them open slightly, so Isa can get through, but not enough to be noticed. Isa waits for the right moment, this has to be perfectly timed, no one hurts his dad and gets away with it. To get the prey, one had to be patient, and despite contrary belief, Isa has the patience of a saint.</p><p>
  <em>There. </em>
</p><p>He darts forward, keeping low, and uses his dad and Uncle Luci’s shoulders as leverage, as he jumps, pulling the string of his dad’s bow taught, electricity curls around his arms, his bright blue eyes blazing with power, the electricity condensing into a bolt of lightning, in substitute for an arrow, he preferred it this way, he liked watching his opponent convulse.</p><p>Asmodeus yells in surprise, they have the element of surprise, and he lets go of the bolt, using the Prince’s shoulders as more leverage, he flips around, swinging the hard end of the bow around, and it cracks sharply over the side of the high tier demon’s head. He lands in a crouch, setting his dad’s bow down, he reaches for the staff strapped to his back, glaring at the Hell Prince from under his curls, he needs a haircut badly. “You kidnapped the wrong guys, Hell bitch.”</p><p>The Prince recovers quick enough, reaching over to feel his ear, pulling his hand away, red coats his fingers, and he snarls, turning to face the Archangel brat. “You little—”</p><p>He takes a step forward, and chokes, flying forward, as the spires of his Uncle’s trident piece into his shoulders, Adam darts forward through the air, it condenses under his feet, landing behind the Prince of Hell, the spires of the trident are buried deep, and he grips the staff, pulling is up, squatting as he tugs the Prince over him, flipping him over him, and the demon drops to the stone floor with a loud thump.</p><p>The Morningstar’s son is on him in an instant, as soon as he turns himself over, pressing the staff of the trident to his windpipe, and the demon chokes.</p><p>Austin jumps over his dad’s head, pulls his sword around, and beheads the demon holding the box of syringes midair. They shatter on impact, the grace slowly returning to it’s appropriate owner, they’re still weak, but something is better then nothing.</p><p>The twins appear in the blink of an eye, standing on the throne, Adam had said to make sure they weren’t on the floor when he gave the signal. Their expressions are that of determination, drawing runes in the air before them, they burn gold for a second, before fading, as the doors behind them fly open and demons flood into the room, they clap their hands together, their eyes flash gold, and the demons coming around from behind the throne stop, falling dead in their tracks, their eyes flashing the same gold. The twins raise an arm, and the demons follow suit, the two Nephilim smile, staring straight ahead.</p><p>Jack opens his mouth. “Turn around and kill your comrades.”</p><p>The Archangels watch in amazement as the demons around them do as they’re told, turning around, hacking at their comrades as they draw nearer, taking them out before they can pass.</p><p>Danny gives them another order. “Close the doors and lock them.”</p><p>The demons rush forward as one unit, pushing the doors closed as more of them flood in, the lock thunks into place.</p><p>Jack smiles. “Disarm your comrades and drop your weapons.”</p><p>The horde do as they’re told, disarming their comrades first, and dropping their own weapons.</p><p>Adam jumps up, plowing his dad’s trident through the Prince of Hell’s chest, deep into the floor, trapping him in place. Stepping over the struggling demons form, and kneels, pressing his hands to the floor, he takes a breath, and lets it out, he’s never done an entire room before, but no better time to try.</p><p>Frost spreads over the floor, Lucifer hums, looking around as thick ice spreads around them, tricky little beasts, these Nephilim are. Adam’s hands rest on top of the thick ice, looking up at his cousin, Isa meets his eyes, and they share a nod, the Healer’s son passes his dad’s bow and staff up to the twins, Austin climbs up onto his dad’s shoulders, Michael’s fingers curl around his ankles. The Morningstar’s son stands, stepping back climbing up onto his own dad’s shoulders, they need to be out of the water.</p><p>The second oldest Archangel hums thoughtfully, looking up at his son’s raised hands, looking back as he lowers his hands slightly, the ice melting under direction, water flooding the room, swirling up midway over their legs, thick ice indeed.</p><p>Isa braces himself, his eyes flashing brightly, and he illuminates, thousands of volts curling around his body, his curls float, and he lowers himself, to sit in the water, pressing his hands to the floor.</p><p>Raphael hums softly, watching as the water conducts the currents, looking passed the twins, watching the demons collapse, convulsing and steaming, the Prince before them convulses violently, his eyes wide, sparks jumping over his form, his son is frying them, or, boiling them, if one wanted to be technical, humming softly, he uncurls his legs from under him, his core and grace are made of electricity, he just needs to touch it.</p><p>Rising to his knees, he leans forward, pressing his hands into the water, adsorbing his son’s power, the others watch his eyes flash, and he melts the cuffs around his wrists, rising to his feet, he walks forward, towards his child, and squats behind him, curling his hands over his shoulders, backing the boy’s power with his own. Isa looks up at him, and he smiles down at him, leaning in to kiss him on the nose. “That’s enough, child.”</p><p>The Nephilim under him smiles, fading to normal, and reaches up to curl his arms around his dad’s neck, kissing him on the nose too. “Hi, dad.”</p><p>“Hello, my little one, what you all did was immensely foolish, but very impressive.”</p><p>“We kicked ass, dad!”</p><p>He smiles down at him. “Language, child.” Isa yelps when fingers curl around his middle, and his dad stands, flipping him over his head, and he curls around him, his arms around his neck and legs around his waist, resting on his back, fingers curl under his knees to keep him in place. “But, yes, you did.”</p><p>“Adam, freeze me.” Lucifer tilts his head back, meeting his son’s ice blue eyes, the little blonde smiles, curling his hands around the sides of his dad’s head, and frost crawls over his blonde hair and skin. The Morningstar shivers, feeling himself recharge in the subzero temperatures, and freezes the manacles around his wrists, shattering them when he yanks his wrists apart. “Thanks, snow miser.” He curls his fingers around the boys ankles as he adjusts his position, rising to his feet, Adam curls his arms over the top of his head and leans forward.</p><p>The twins bump fists, hopping down from the throne, and run to their dad’s side. Gabriel smiles up at them, raising his arms, and Jack touches a finger to the iron manacles, they watch as they melt away, and the Messenger pushes himself up. “C’mere you little tricksters, that was amazing, you did great.” The twins curl around their dad and he smacks their heads lightly. “But, don’t you <em>ever </em>do it again.”</p><p>Austin looks down his dad, still sitting on his shoulders, smiling at him sheepishly. “Hey, dad.”</p><p>Michael smiles up at him, reaching up to cradle his cheeks in his hands. “Hello, my little one.” He pulls away, raising his hands. “Free me?”</p><p>The Nephilim boy nods, curling his hands around the manacles, and they melt under his touch, and he lets them go, watching them fall to the floor. The oldest Archangel curls his fingers around the boy’s ankles as he rises, the boy leans forward against the back of his head, his arms dangling down his chest. He kneels slightly, to pick up his sword, spinning it around in his hand, he turns to his brothers.</p><p>Raphael takes his things back from the twins.</p><p>Lucifer pulls his trident out from the Prince’s chest, Adam tugs on his ear, and he hums in acknowledgement. “Is he dead, dad?”</p><p>“He might be.” He kicks the limp form in the shoulder lightly. “Your cousin electrocuted them.” He tilts his head slightly, looking up at him, and smiles. “I was very impressed with your work, you’ve been practicing.” The boy blushes a purple color, the same as his father does, and bows his head to hide his smile. “Good job, little lightbringer.” He squeezes his left ankle. “But you’re grounded.”</p><p>The other three hum in agreement, and the five Nephilim groan lightly.</p><p>That’s just how it is, they guess.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0029"><h2>29. You're Gonna Be Ok</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>“I can’t take it anymore!”</em>
</p><p>They look around at the youthful voice, watching with wide eyes as he swings his arms around, clearing the contents of the Archangel’s desk onto the floor. Vials shatter upon impact with the floor, papers flutter out of charts, and they continue to watch, as the boy throws the chair and the lamp. He clenches his fingers tight, into tight fists, sparks dance over his skin, and he screams, static making his curls float, falling to his knees as a sob is torn from his chest.</p><p>Their Archangel pushes through them, for the Nephilim breaking down at the back of the room, he ignores the contents of his desk now sitting scattered on the floor, lowering himself to the floor in front of the distraught boy.</p><p>Raphael curls his hands around his son’s cheeks, lifting his head up, as silent as the night around them. The boy stares up at him, his eyes shimmering, whether it being from the tears that soak them or his grace rolling just under his skin, right on the brink of exploding around them, he doesn’t know, he dislikes either choice, his son’s eyes shouldn’t shine with tears, it doesn’t suit him, it’s not right. He pulls the boy forward, pulling him into his chest, curling his arms around him tightly, pressing his cheek against the side of his head, his curls brush against his ear, and he whispers, in the old language, the enochian that only the Archangels know, and they’d taught their children, into his ear.</p><p>Isa lays there limply, his face pressing into his dad’s chest, his tears soaking his shirt, as he sobs, deep gut-wrenching sobs. The Healer’s child was always so strong, through everything he’d been through, taking it all silently, his head down, taking the brunt of it in silence, putting on a smile and cracking jokes, it’s in his personality, but sometime, sometimes it’s a mask, a façade, to hide just how much he’s cracking, just how much he’s breaking on the inside. No one can take all that he’s taken and come out unscathed, especially one so young, and he breaks down, he shatters, like the vials he had pushed off his father’s desk.</p><p>The Virtues step in, the floor elders, telling them to get back to work, patients need tending too, it’s not right for them to watch the Healer’s son breaking. Then, they make their way back, just in case they’re needed, this is their little brother that’s breaking, they want to be there if he needs them, for anything, they’d do anything to help him.</p><p>Slowly, the boy winds his arms around his dad, his fingers curling tightly in the back of his tunic, clutching at it as tight as he can, as his shoulders heave with another massive sob, his hands tremble, shaking as they clutch to their Archangels shirt. The Healer curls a hand around the back of his head, whispering into his ear, asking questions, most probably, he was a father and a Healer, he could be both at the same time with great ease. The boy nods intermittently to the whispering in his ear.</p><p>His palpable anger fades into distress, the electricity curling around his hands fades, adsorbed by their Archangel, the only one who can contend and negate his child’s power, and they look up when thunder rumbles above their heads, they can’t see it through the ceiling, but they can hear the thunder and torrents of rain hitting the ceiling above them, the clouds are rolling and breaking, responding in time with the storm bringer’s son’s extreme emotions.</p><p>“Ak,” the mental specialist turns away from the scene, looking over to his older brother, his hand squeezing his shoulder firmly, Oren spares him a glance and turns back to their Archangel and his son. “What’s the prognosis?”</p><p>Akriel hums, turning back to watch their adopted brother sob into his father’s chest, and scratches at his beard lightly. “Mental breakdown. I feel as though it’s been a long time coming. The signs were all there, and I told Raph, he said he’d keep an eye on him and keep him close, that’s why he’s been here so much.”</p><p>Constantine looks up at him. “Signs?”</p><p>“Yes, signs, extreme mood swings, memory loss, sleeping too much or too little, indifference, paranoia, and overly aggressive. He was falling apart, it was only a matter of time before he just…..broke.”</p><p>Ephraim presses a hand to his mouth, closing his eyes, he feels a headache coming on. “He’s in so much <em>pain</em>.”</p><p>“It’s not surprising though,” Zed intones. “He’s been through so much, and at such a young age too, he has every right to finally break.” He crosses his arms slightly. “I’m just surprised it took as long as it did.”</p><p>“Isa’s strong, perhaps stronger then any of us.”</p><p>“Ak,” he turns back to his older brother at the call of his name, he’s the only one, other then their Archangel, who can do so, it’s his specialty after all. “What’s your diagnosis?”</p><p>“Hmmm,” he hums softly, turning back to watch. “PTSD, for sure, frightening thoughts and flashbacks, when he does have those flashbacks, he’ll jump, sometimes shriek, when someone touches his back.” He taps his lips lightly. “Adjustment disorder. He has unhealthy reactions to stressful events, it’s hard to see, he’s very good at hiding it, but I can see it, and I’m sure Raph does too.” He crosses his arms, tapping his fingers over his right upper arm. “Reactive attachment disorder. Limited emotional responses, or lack thereof, no response at all.” Akriel scratches at his beard again. “Dissociative disorder, a distorted perception of things and people, you know how he was helping me the other day,” they nod at him. “I didn’t say anything about it, not at first, because I wasn’t sure I heard him correctly, he mumbled it under his breath, but he was calling me <em>‘master’</em>, which was a disconnection of identity and memory, he was sure he was a slave again, and I was his master,” he frowns in distaste. “Because of the differences in our skin color.” He crosses his arms again. “There are some I can’t place, they’d don’t necessarily fall into just one category of disorders.”</p><p>They watch their Archangel in silence, adsorbing that information, they hadn’t thought about any of that.</p><p>Raphael hums softly, and strokes a finger down the back of the Nephilim’s neck, when it appears his sobbing is not calming down, and adjusts his grip when the boy just falls limp, collapsing against him, wheezing softly as his lungs take in oxygen greedily, his grip on the back of his shirt falling lax, fingers loosing their strength, and his arms just fall limply.</p><p>Carefully, he pushes himself to his feet, getting his feet under him, squatting on the floor, as he adjusts his grip on his limp unconscious son, curling his fingers around his ribs, he pulls him up, resting his head on his shoulder, his arms hanging limply down his sides, he curls an arm under his bottom and the other around his shoulders, his fingers curling around the side of the boys head, his palm over his ear, and rises, straightening out, and turns around, nodding at them as he steps forward. “I will be absent for a while.” He says as he steps through them, as they part for him, and he carries his unconscious broken child down the aisle, and watch him disappear in the night, before splitting up, and returning to their work.</p><p>They’d take care of things here.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0030"><h2>30. A Nice Gentle Grooming</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Dad, you wanted to see me?”</p><p>His father looks over his shoulder at him, mixing something in a bowl on the bedside table, Isa looks around his room, to the candles with dancing flames, the gentle music filling the silence, it’s warm and cozy, a few towels are folded on the side of the bed, he sees a scrub brush on the bedside table too, a few bottles of assorted oils.</p><p>“Yes, Isa, come in and close the door.”</p><p>The Nephilim tilts his head, watching him cautiously. “Whyyy?”</p><p>“I’m going to groom your wings.”</p><p>“Um, yea, no.” He shakes his head. “Thanks for the offer though, really appreciate it.”</p><p>Isa steps back, intending on making his retreat, halting in his tracks when his dad throws a hand around at him, and he whines. “Aaaaaawwwww! Daaaaaad using your grace is cheeeeating!”</p><p>Raphael chuckles softly at the boy’s whines. “I wouldn’t have gotten as far as I have if I didn’t cheat just a little.”</p><p>Isa groans, throwing his head back. “I don’t waaaaannnt to get my wings grooooomed!”</p><p>“Why ever not, you love it when I groom your wings, you make this little purring sound, it’s quite adorable.”</p><p>There’s a brief pause, and the Archangel straightens, turning to look at him in his silence, he studies the expression on his child’s face, it’s a calculating expression, as though he’s trying to figure out the right words to use. “Isa?”</p><p>“I just…..I just don’t want to.” The Nephilim boy refuses to meet his eyes, looking instead to a spot next to him, and he hums thoughtfully, stepping forward, reaching out to cradle the boy’s cheeks in his hands.</p><p>“Isa, what’s wrong?” He rubs his cheeks with his thumbs. “I <em>know </em>you love it when I groom your wings.”</p><p>“I just…I don’t want you to be upset, dad.” The boy leans forward, pressing his face into his stomach, and he hums softly, curling his hand around the back of his head. “Upset about what, my little one?”</p><p>“They’re not in good shape.”</p><p>“All the more reason to groom them.” He scratches at the back of the boy’s head. “Come, I promise not to be upset, you’ll feel better with well-groomed wings.”</p><p>Isa knows a losing battle when he sees one, and, truth be told, he <em>does </em>love it when his dad grooms his wings, he’s the <em>best </em>at it, the way he does it makes him feel <em>so </em>good. “Promise?”</p><p>“I swear.”</p><p>The boy nods. “Okay, dad.”</p><p>The Archangel pulls him in gently, closing the door behind him, and guides him across the room by the shoulders, to stand next to his large bed. “Get comfortable, be sure to remove your shirt and sneakers.”</p><p>He nods, feeling his dad turn away, he thinks about bolting, but then, he <em>does </em>want his wings to be groomed, he does <em>love </em>it when they are, so he pushes those thoughts away and tugs his shirt up over his head, and squats to untie his hightops, kicking them off, before falling face first on his dad’s bed. He hears his deep chuckles above him, and he smiles, pushing himself up to crawl up to the pillows.</p><p>The bed dips as his dad sits on the edge, and he sits up slightly as he scoots underneath him, and he lays back down, curling his arms around his dad’s waist slightly, resting his head on his thigh, feeling his dad’s legs resting down his sides. He moves slightly, reaching for something on the bedside table, and he hears the soft pop of a cap being pull off one of the bottles, a scent fills the room, he can’t place it, what it is, he doesn’t know all the scents of the ingredients his dad uses to make the oils he uses, but it calms the nerves, it makes him <em>relax</em>, like his body just knows that it wants to. He leans over again to set the bottle back down, and returns to his previous position, he hears his dad rub his hands together, then they press to his back, big warm hands press to his back, and he sighs, as his fingers rub in, massaging gently.</p><p>He <em>loves </em>it when his dad grooms his wings, has he said that yet, because he does, he does love it.</p><p>Raphael smiles down at his son’s head, hearing him purr softly, it’s an adorable sound, the only way to truly get him to slow down, and just relax, was to groom his wings, or drug him, but he’s not a mean person, he doesn’t drug his son.</p><p>Too much.</p><p>He feels him kneading into his back lightly, his son is a like a kitten, honestly, when you get him in the right position and mood.</p><p>Isa sighs in comfort when his dad presses the heels of his palms in, moving down around his spine, and rubs his cheek against his thigh. He leans into it, arches into it, when he rubs his shoulders, fingers massaging in, rubbing around his shoulder blades, and he <em>knows </em>his dad is smiling down at him, he can just <em>feel </em>it.</p><p>“Does that feel good, my little one?” His dad’s voice rumbles softly from above him, and he hums softly, nodding his head slightly. “Good, good. Just relax. Fall asleep if you wish. I’ll take care of everything.”</p><p>The Nephilim nods again.</p><p>The Healer presses a finger between his shoulders, Isa feels him draw an intricate rune, and there’s a slight tension, as the Archangel releases his wings.</p><p>Raphael sighs, taking in the site of his son’s wings, reaching out to rub his fingers over the bald spots. He wants to know why his child has bald spots on his wings, but he promised not to be upset, and he fears asking him would make it appear he was upset, at this moment, anyway, and he does not want that.</p><p>So, he leaves it be for the moment, leaning over for the scrub brush, he dips it in the bowl of water, and gently scrubs soothing gently circles over the feathers, the bristles scrubbing the skin underneath softly, and he smiles again, as his son purrs just a bit louder, and shakes his head fondly, scrubbing slowly down to the secondaries, then returns to the top of the primaries, and scrubs his way back down again. He takes great care when scrubbing the bald spots, in the event that the skin is still raw. He gets to one bald spot, and he knows it’s still fresh, recently done, when he scrubs a gentle circle, and the boy whines softly.</p><p>The Archangel scratches the boy’s head softly, cooing down at him, making quick work on that sensitive spot so he can move on. He leans over to dip the brush back into the water, and continues on, scrubbing the small wing gently, stretching it out lightly, as he makes his way over the appendage, all the way to the tip. Then, he moves to the second one, starting all over, working slowly and precisely, not wanting to miss anything, nor be too rough.</p><p>Raphael smiles, when he feels the boy exhale deeply, and rubs at the back of his head softly, he’s fallen asleep, he always does, when he has his wings groomed.</p><p>He works on, though. Setting the scrub brush down, he sifts through the feather gently, righting crooked ones, and tugging loose one’s free. Taking his time, making sure not to miss any, he sets a handful of feathers on the bedside table and continues on, his son is losing feathers, and he wants answers, he wants to know why, but he doesn’t want to wake him, not when he’s sleeping so peacefully. So, he works on silently, making a mental note to inquire about it later.</p><p>When he finishes with the second wing, he reaches over for the oil on his bedside table, to polish and strengthen the feathers, he gently rubs it into each feather, taking great care not to be too rough.</p><p>He finishes that a little over ten minutes later, and pets his child’s wings lightly, looking down to him, looking to his peaceful face, and reaches under his wing to stroke a finger over his cheek. Isa hums softly, nodding against his thigh, and falls still and silent once more.</p><p>The Archangel makes a complicated hand gesture over the Nephilim’s wings, and they fade, out of the physical plane, back to the plane they’re typically kept on. He slides down carefully, resting against the pillows, and reaches down, curling his fingers under the boy’s arms, pulling him up gently, to rest on his chest. Isa mumbles sleepily and his hands come up to rest on his chest, his fingers curl into the front of his shirt, and he coos down at him softly, scratching at his head, until he fell silent again, and he reaches down to pull the blankets up over them.</p><p>Raphael presses his lips to his forehead. “Sleep well, my son.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0031"><h2>31. The Aftermath</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Dad. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Dad.</em>
</p><p>He wants his dad. He wants his dad to hold him. To feel his arms around him. His arms mean protection and safety. He hurts, he’s sore, he wants his dad, he wants his dad to make it better again, he wants his dad.</p><p>Standing in the doorway, his hands shaking as he wrings his fingers together, Isa looks around through the crowd, trying to spot the one he’s here for. <em>There he is</em>. Darting forward, he doesn’t care who he knocks aside, who he runs into, who he bumps shoulders with, he doesn’t care about the shouts being directed at him, <em>he just wants his dad</em>, he sees him, and his oldest brother look up at the commotion he’s causing.</p><p>“Isa—” He rams into the Archangel, forcing him back a step, wrapping his arms around him as tightly as he can, curling his fingers into the back of his shirt, holding on as though his life depends on it, and he finally breaks down, tears spilling over, a sob torn from his chest, he just wants his dad to hold him. Arms curl around him, and he presses closer, a hand curling around the back of his head. “Isa, what’s wrong?” His dad’s voice rumbles in his ear and he sobs harder. “Isa?”</p><p>The Nephilim inhales deeply. “D—Dad! D—Dad s—something bad ha—happened!”</p><p>Raphael frowns in concern, petting the boy’s curls lightly. “What’s happened?”</p><p>Isa turns, looking up at him, his eyes shining with unshed tears. “I—I—I’ve been playing w—with these g—guys online and t—they s—said they were my a—age s—so we decided to me—meet up and—and—and they—they—they <em>weren’t </em>m—my age and they—they did b—bad stuff, d—dad! Th—They h—hurt me! They—They—They—Dad it was so b—bad! It—It hurt! I—It hurt so b—bad!” He takes another breath, inhaling deeply, and chokes on a sob. “I—I—I told them to—to stop b—but they wo—wouldn’t! They—They just laughed a—and they wo—wouldn’t stop!” The boy’s on the verge of hyperventilating. “I—I feel so d—dirty! L—Like I’m d—disgusting! Th—They wouldn’t s—stop, dad! They—They s—said really n—nasty things! A—And then they j—just left m—me there!”</p><p>“Oh, my little one.” Fingers curl around his ribs and lift him up, just as he wanted, and he curls around his dad, pressing his face into the crook of his shoulder as his sobs overtake him again. “It’ll be alright, little one, it’ll be alright.”</p><p>He knows, and judging the expression of rage on Oren’s face, they both know what the boy is insinuating. Humans can be such cruel vile creatures. His brother had a special place in Hell for those types of individuals, to prey on children, not even the Devil himself would stoop so low, and you know, without a doubt, it’s inconceivable when even Lucifer wouldn’t take part in such heinous acts, even with his questionable morals.</p><p>The Archangel rubs at the boy’s back soothingly, holding him as close at he can manage, and turns his attention to his Captain. “Oren, I want you to do something for me.”</p><p>“Anything. Anything at all.”</p><p>He nods lightly. “Take Akriel with you, I want you to find <em>them</em>, I want you to make them <em>suffer</em>, and then I want you to <em>ensure </em>they can never do that to another child again.” The boy chokes on a sob, and he turns his head slightly, cooing and whispering in his ear, urging him to calm down. “Thank you, Oren.”</p><p>“Of course, nobody hurts baby brother.” The Virtue turns, setting the chart in his hand down on the Archangel’s desk, and departs. He watches him as he crosses the floor, to his brother, Akriel looks up when he comes to stand at his side, and his eyes widen, looking over to them, and he nods, it’s true. His mental specialist nods, looking back to his brother, and they both disappear together.</p><p>He turns his attention back to the boy sobbing into his shoulder. “Come, my little one, let’s go home.”</p><p>…</p><p>Michael and Gabriel are there when they enter their Villa, and they immediately look over the sounds of the boy’s sobs, softer then they had been, but still ever present, and rise from the table.</p><p>“Raph, what happened to the lightning bug?”</p><p>He waves them over, he’s not going to say it too loud, he doesn’t know if any of the other little ones are here, he doesn’t want them to hear if they are. He whispers it in Michael’s ear, and his eyes widen, turning to whisper it in the Messenger’s ear, and his eyes widen in turn. They look at each other and share a nod, disappearing in a blink, and he turns, rubbing his son’s back, his sobs having fallen silent, he’s still awake, he can feel his fingers kneading into his shoulder blades.</p><p>“Come, my child, we will get you a nice warm bath, I will feed you any of your favorites, and then we will settle down for a nice long nap.”</p><p>Isa presses against the side of his neck as he slowly makes his way down the hall for his room. “Don’t leave me, daddy.”</p><p>“Never, my little one, I will never leave you.” He turns his head slightly, pressing a kiss to his forehead, a hand coming up to cradle his head tenderly. “I will take care of you now, we will heal this wound together, you won’t be alone, not while I am here.”</p><p>“I was so scared, daddy.”</p><p>“Why didn’t you call for me, child?” He scratches through the boy’s curls. “I would have come for you in a heartbeat.”</p><p>“I—I didn’t think to, all I could think about was how much it hurt, and how <em>scared </em>I was.”</p><p>“Oh, my son, I am so sorry.” Raphael steps into his room, turning to close the door behind him, crossing over to sit on the edge of his bed, pulling the boy around to sit in his lap, curling his arms around him as the Nephilim child leans against his chest. “We will get through this pain together, my child, I will be with you every step.”</p><p>Isa curls his fingers in the front of his tunic. “Can I….Can I stay with you, daddy?”</p><p>“Of course, Isa, you are always welcome to stay with me.” His dad’s arms squeeze around him for a moment. “If I didn’t know how much you like to wander, I’d have kept you at my side since the day I first brought you home.”</p><p>He sniffles softly. “I don’t want to be alone.”</p><p>“And, you shall never be. I’m not leaving you. I will hold you for as long as you need me to.”</p><p>The Nephilim smiles slightly, closing his eyes, listening to his dad’s heart beat and the thrum of his grace coursing under his skin. “Can I have bubbles in my bath?”</p><p>His dad’s chest rumbles as he chuckles softly. “Yes, you can have bubbles in your bath.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0032"><h2>32. Whenever You Call</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He scrambles back as they approach.</p><p>“Come back here, you brat.”</p><p>“I <em>love </em>boys his age.” The one makes a hand gesture. “The perfect kind of tightness.”</p><p>He stumbles over his own feet as he scrambles backwards, further down the dark alley, it had supposed to have been a shortcut to the other block, he hadn’t realized he’d been followed until he paused and heard the sound of continuous footsteps. He’s listened to them for too long, someone had reached around him, so suddenly, it had made him shriek in surprise, and a cloth was held over his mouth and nose, it smelled weird, and it made him feel lightheaded, but the affects didn’t take hold as soon as they would have for a human, and he threw his head back, bashing it into the other’s face, he heard a snap and a curse, and he darted forward, making his escape, shaking his head to clear away the fogginess.</p><p>It was only his luck, that he turned into a dead end, the two men laughed at his misfortune, standing at the only exit he had, he backtracks, and stumbles, falling backwards, and he crab crawls backwards as they approach closer and closer.</p><p>
  <em>“Dad! Dad! I need you! Help me!”</em>
</p><p>The one with the broken nose chuckles softly. “Your daddy isn’t going to help you, boy, why, I doubt he even knows where you are.”</p><p>“Doesn’t it make your heart skip a beat when they cry out for their parents, Jim?”</p><p>“Just a bit, Lenny, just a bit.”</p><p>Jim reaches out for him, and he screams, curling in on himself, curling into a ball, praying for his dad, he needs his dad, he wants his dad. He hears Lenny scream in terror, a rain drop falls onto his hand, and he peeks out, watching the droplet slide down the back of his hand, looking up as thunder rumbles around them, and he <em>smiles. </em>The pressure in the alley changes when <em>he</em> lands, knees bent slightly, six emerald wings flaring widely, and he snags up Jim by the neck, lifting him clean off his feet, Jim chokes and kicks, eyes as wide as saucers, Lenny tries to run for it, terrified by the sight, and he throws a hand out, halting him in his tracks. “You <em>thought </em>you could touch <em>my </em>son?”</p><p>Isa crawls forward, curling his fingers in the soft feathers of the first wing, peering out from behind it, but he keeps it in front of him, like a shield, he was <em>terrified</em>. The wing in his grasp rustles softly, feathers stroking over his cheek, and he smiles, tugging gently.</p><p>Jim stares at him, and he flinches back, the fingers curled around his throat tighten. “Don’t look at <em>him, </em>you will look at <em>me</em>.” The predator’s eyes move from the boy to the man. “For <em>I</em> am the one who decides if you breathe another breath.” His dad draws him in closer. “You thought you could touch an <em>Archangel’s </em>child?”</p><p>“A—Arch—Angel?”</p><p>“Yes, an <em>Archangel.</em>” He leans in closer. “I am one of the second most powerful beings in creation, and you want to get on <em>my </em>bad side?”</p><p>“Did—Didn’t kn—know.”</p><p>“That means nothing, your kind disgust me,” Isa looks up at his dad, he’s never heard him so angry before, it’s kind of scary. “To prey on innocent children. Children are innocent souls, <em>protected </em>by my younger brother, who just so happens to be the <em>Archangel </em>of <em>Justice</em>.” He squeezes tighter. “My older brother has a <em>special </em>place in Hell for your kind.”</p><p>Lenny squeaks softly. Good, be afraid, asshole.</p><p>“I am a <em>merciful </em>being.” A sudden chill fills the alley, and Isa looks around, waving at his Uncle, he smiles, waving back. “My brother is <em>not</em>.”</p><p>“No, I am not.”</p><p>Isa waves again. “Hey, Uncle Luci.”</p><p>“Hey, sparky.”</p><p>Jim’s eyes bulge at the implications of what that might mean, and who that <em>‘Uncle Luci’ </em>was. Lenny screams, and then there’s silence, and he hears someone walking up behind him. They lean over, purring softly in his ear, a chill radiates off their person. “I heard you had some ill intents for my nephew.” A pale hand enters his vision, fingers petting over the green feathers, and a soft chuckle echoes on his ear. “Raph, you came with your wings, really blazing that glory of one of heavens most terrifying weapons.”</p><p>“I will strike the fear of <em>God </em>in <em>anyone </em>who thinks they can harm my child.”</p><p>“Well said brother,” the voice purrs in his ear again. “You’re lucky it wasn’t my son you were after. I would have castrated you, and then, I would have shoved it down your throat.” A hum echoes. “I know, not very angelic, but, then again, I <em>haven’t </em>been very angelic for a <em>very </em>long time.” Pale fingers curl around his chin and turn his head around, and he stares into ice blue eyes, speckles of red make them shimmer. “My names Lucifer,” he smiles a crooked smile. “What’s yours?”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0033"><h2>33. In The Dead Of Night</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He’s running, running as fast as he can, hearing the sound of boots trailing behind him, his feet hurt, they hurt so bad, they’re so cold, he’s so cold, but he keeps running, his bare feet splashing through puddles, the rain pouring from above soaking him to the core, thunder rumbles overhead, and it’s comforting, he loves thunderstorms, it makes him think of his dad, he wonders what he’s doing, sleeping probably, he wishes he was there, sleeping with him, tucked in his warmth, his arms wrapped around, protective and comforting.</p><p>He skids around a corner, trying to find a way out of this maze of alleys, the only light he has is from the flashes of lightning above his head, the thumping of boots is getting closer, the night getting colder the further if progresses, if he had to guess, he’d say it was maybe around one-thirty in the morning.</p><p>He hears yelling behind him, and he inhales deeply, his chest heaving, he’s starting to slow down, he doesn’t know how much longer he can keep this up. Stopping only for a moment, he looks between the three dark paths he could take, looking over his shoulder as the yelling becomes more pronounced, he can actually make out what they’re saying.</p><p>
  <em>“There he is!”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Get back here kid, we promise to go easy on you!”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Stay where you are!”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Stop running, kid!” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Boss doesn’t like runners, kid, you’ll be taught your place!”</em>
</p><p>His curls flick water around as he looks between all three, and turns down the one to the right, darting into the darkness, his bare feet smacking against the pavement. <em>“Dad!” </em>His chest burns, his lungs want oxygen. <em>“Oren!” </em>He hears their boots and shouts echoing down the alley he’d turned into. <em>“Akriel!” </em>His legs burn, he wants to stop running, but if he stops, he’ll be captured, and taken back to <em>that </em>place, and he <em>won’t </em>go back, he’ll <em>die </em>before he goes <em>back</em>. <em>“Zed!” </em>He screams when he feels broken glass cut into his soles, each step pushing it in deeper and deeper, his blood mixes in the middy puddles underneath him, but he keeps running. <em>“Ephraim!” </em>He comes to a stop in another three way, bouncing in place, he looks around, his curls flicking water from side to side. Someone has to be awake; he’s calling on all of them, <em>someone </em>has to be awake. He looks over his shoulder when he hears them drawing closer, and darts to the left, biting his lip at the pain in his feet, the burn in his legs and chest, reaching up to wipe water from his eyes, it’s blurring his vision, he sees light ahead. <em>“Constantine!” </em></p><p><em>Come on, </em>someone <em>has </em>to be awake!</p><p>The alley opens up into a small parking lot, street lights illuminate the empty lot, and he yells as he stumbles, tripping over his own feet, and tumbles forward, rolling head over heels, coming to land on his back, his head smashing harshly against the concrete under him, and he stares up at the dark sky, his chest heaving, panting feverishly, trying to catch his breath. The boots are getting closer. <em>Someone</em>. He hears their shouting. <em>Anyone. </em>He wants to get up, to keep going, but he can’t bring himself to move. He’s so tired. He’s so cold. He’s so sore. <em>Please</em>.</p><p>“There you are kid.” The voices are in the parking lot now. “You shoulda stopped runnin’.”</p><p>They’re panting too.</p><p>That’s a positive.</p><p>At least he’s not the only one.</p><p>“Now, you gotta be punished kid, you know you ain’t supposed to run away.”</p><p>He stares up at the sky, the clouds rolling above him, the rain splashing down on his face, he’s just so tired, he just wants to sleep, just let him sleep. <em>Anyone, please, anyone. </em>He has no strength left to scream when hands curl around his ankles, dragging him into the light, his arms dragging above him, his back rubbed raw by the rough cement under him, it’s like sandpaper on his skin, it burns, but he doesn’t care, he just stares up at the storm above him, it comforts him, they let go of his ankles and his feet fall limply to the ground, he hears the sound of batons smacking the flesh of hands, and he closes his eyes, just letting the feeling of the rain splashing down on him comfort him, through the beating they’re going to give him, for running away.</p><p>The lightning flashes brightly above him, illuminating even behind his eye lids, and the thunder that booms makes his bones quiver. <em>Please. </em></p><p>
  <em>“What the hell is that!”</em>
</p><p>He opens his eyes, reaching up to rub the water away with his fingers, and through the haze of the storm, he can see <em>something, </em>something coming towards them, dropping through the storm. It’s a form, it looks like a person, he wants to smile, <em>someone was awake</em>, but he can’t, his body isn’t cooperating, another follows, and another, and another, he can’t keep track, there’s just more then one of them. Someone lands above his head, he can see their hands, the gold bands around their fingers, as they land in a crouched position, he hears the heavy thump of boots making contact with the cement he lays on, he tilts his head back weakly, massive wings spread widely, white speckled feathers, they look like duck feathers, he knows who that is. <em>Ak</em>. He doesn’t look down at him, as he straightens, standing just above his head.</p><p>There’s another thump, to his right, and he turns his head slightly, another pair of massive wings flare, and they straighten up, blue and brown feathers, he knows who that is too. A scowl mars their expression, hands curled into fists, staring at the ones who’d been chasing him. <em>Oren</em>.</p><p>Another thump, more boots hitting pavement, to his left, and he turns his head around, he sees another pair of massive wings, spread wide, as they land in a crouched position, white and brown feathers, and he watches them straighten, a dagger curled in his fingers. <em>Constantine. </em></p><p>The group hovering over him spin around at another thump, from behind them, he can’t lift his head to see who it is, but he knows it’s one of them. They jump again, someone lands beside the one he can’t see, and his eyes return upwards, the rain still falling, he likes the rain, he wishes he could say something, but his mouth isn’t working, he can’t form any words at the moment.</p><p>There’s another one, he watches it drop through the clouds, who could that be?</p><p>Everyone’s here except—<em>Dad. </em></p><p>His pursuers shout, jumping back in surprise, when he lands, six massive emerald wings flaring behind him, and if he could, he’d reach up to touch the closest one, but he can’t seem to get his arms to work.</p><p>They all came.</p><p>
  <em>They all came. </em>
</p><p>One would have been enough, only one of them would be able to kick their asses, but they <em>all </em>came.</p><p>
  <em>He needs to get up. </em>
</p><p>He slowly manages to move his arms, they feel like they weigh a thousand pounds, and slowly pushes himself up, his head pounds, as he turns over slightly, forcing himself through the ache and the pain and the tiredness, to <em>get up</em>. He manages to get to his feet, <em>somehow</em>, they’re numb, he can’t even feel the glass shoved up into his soles anymore. He stumbles forward, lightheaded, he can hear words being said, the voice is deep, that’s dad speaking, <em>I have to get to dad</em>, and he turns, leaning dangerously to the side, and nearly tumbles over again.</p><p>His head hurts, <em>has he said that yet</em>, his head hurts really bad. Shaking as he does, he reaches back, he flinches, when his fingers brush over <em>something, </em>that <em>fucking </em>hurts, and when he pulls his fingers back around, they’re coated red with blood. He stumbles slightly, trying to force himself forward, but after running nonstop for the last two hours, his legs just don’t seem to want to cooperate right now. He manages a slight step forward, and falls forward, and he just flops down on the concrete, the smack echoes around the parking lot, and he just lays there, staring at his hand, in front of his face, and everything falls silent.</p><p>
  <em>Somebody says something.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Dad.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Dad.</em>
</p><p>He wants his dad. He’d make everything better again. Groaning softly, he forces himself back up, slowly rising to his feet again, and he stumbles forward dangerously, throwing his hands out to balance himself, and this time when his legs give out, he falls onto someone’s back, face pressed between their shoulders, feathers rubbing over his face, and he turns his head. <em>Emerald green feathers. </em></p><p>Losing his grip, his legs not listening to his silent commands, and he starts to fall to the side, he braces himself, he’s going to hit the ground, he’s numb, so he doesn’t know if it’ll hurt. He blinks, something soft curls around him, lifting him back up, and then he’s cradled in someone’s arms, a deep voice rumbles against his ear, he knows that deep voice, he doesn’t know what’s being said, but he <em>knows </em>that deep voice, so that means he <em>knows </em>who’s arms he’s in. The deep voice rumbles again, and Oren and Akriel appear at his sides, Ak spares him a glance, smiling down at him, is he smiling back, he hopes he is, and his older brother pets his soaked curled away from his eyes, before returning his attention upwards.</p><p>
  <em>Maybe I’ll just sleep for a while. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Sleep sounds nice.</em>
</p><p>He blinks, his vision going fuzzy, he sees Oren and Akriel looking down at him in concern, he blinks once, twice, his eyelids are growing heavier and heavier, three times, and then everything just fades into darkness.</p><p>Nothing but darkness.</p><p>Sweet, <em>sweet</em> darkness.</p><p>…</p><p>When he wakes up, he just stares up at the ceiling above him, the doomed arched ceiling, <em>I know that ceiling</em>, and then things start registering. He’s been changed, he’s wearing thick pajamas, he feels bandages wrapped around his head, bandages wrapped around his feet, there’s at least two wool blankets tucked around him.</p><p>“Hey, Isa.” He looks over at the voice, his head turning slightly, and his oldest brother smiles down at him, Oren reaches out to stroke his cheek with a finger. “How are you feeling?”</p><p>“Well, that’s a stupid question, Ori.” He looks to his other side, Akriel smiles at him, leaning back in a chair, he’s taken his boots off, his socked feet are resting on the side of the bed, ankles crossed. “He probably feels like shit.”</p><p>“Nah, he’s gonna feel pretty good for a while, gave him some <em>strong</em> painkillers.” The Nephilim looks down, Zed smiles at him, sitting in a similar position that Ak is. “He’s also going to be pretty out of it too, so nothing to much, we don’t want him getting overwhelmed.”</p><p>“He’s pretty content right now, very comfortable, a bit out of it.” He looks just to Zed’s left; Ephraim smiles and waves a few fingers at him. “He’s surprised we came.”</p><p>“Why wouldn’t we come?” He looks across from Ephraim, and Constantine smiles, sitting back like Ak and Zed are, his arms crossed over his chest. “He’s our baby brother, of course, we’d come when he calls.”</p><p>“Always,” Isa looks back up, to Oren, and he smiles down at him, stroking his cheek again. “We’ll <em>always </em>come for you.”</p><p>The Healer’s son licks his lips. “..Dad…?”</p><p>Ak shakes a foot lightly, and he turns to look at him, he reaches out to tug on his ear softly. “He’s getting you another blanket, you were <em>freezing</em>, so we’re going to bundle you up nice and snug.”</p><p>“Yes, we are.” A deep voice rumbles above him, and he tilts his head back, meeting his father’s warm emerald eyes. “Hello, my little one.”</p><p>The Nephilim smiles. “Hi, dad.”</p><p>The Archangel squats at in front of his bed, leaning over to press his lips to his forehead. “I was concerned when you just disappeared. We looked for you.”</p><p>He sees Oren nod and hears the others hum in agreement. “We looked <em>everywhere </em>for you.”</p><p>Raphael hums in agreement, standing once more, shaking out the blanket, to drape it over his son. Oren and Akriel lean forward to tuck it around him, and they all settle down around his bed, watching him silently.</p><p>Ephraim breaks the silence. “Why didn’t you ever call, we’d have come to get you?”</p><p>Isa licks his lips again. “They…They drugged us….To keep us complacent.”</p><p>They all frown distastefully.</p><p>“Well,” Akriel shakes his foot again, nudging him in the leg, until he looks over at him. “We took <em>great </em>care of them.”</p><p>“Damn right, we did.” Constantine growls softly. “Nobody hurts our baby brother and gets away with it.”</p><p>“We most certainly did.” His dad’s deep voice is comforting, and his eyelids are growing heavy again, they all smile at him, as if they know, and he feels fingers rub at his forehead, so he looks up, his dad smiles down at him. “Go back to sleep, little one, we’ll be here when you awaken.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0034"><h2>34. The Bubonic Plague And Other Infectious Diseases</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Mary Winchester stands next to the tall Archangel fidgeting, he wants to tell her to be still, it’s making it hard for him to focus on the task at hand, but as a parent himself, he understands her giddiness. “So, what’s wrong with him?”</p><p>Raphael sighs, leaning over the man in the bed, pulling the bottom lip of the older Winchester boy back to examine. “Grain like bumps, some turning into ulcers already, interesting.” Humming under his breath, he dabs a finger into the watery sludge like substance from under his eye, rubbing his fingers together, nodding to himself. “You said he hasn’t had much of an appetite?”</p><p>She looks up at the deep voice of the Healer, clearly asking her a question, and she nods quickly. “He says he’s not hungry, he hasn’t eaten for days, just the sight of food makes him feel upset to his stomach.”</p><p>He nods, pressing a hand to the hunter’s chest, his breathing is rapid under his touch. “This is very curious.” He rubs his hands on his thighs, looking the hunter in the bed over with his eyes, crossing his arms behind his back. “Very curious, indeed.”</p><p>Mary looks up at him. “<em>What’s </em>curious?”</p><p>The Healer hums to himself. “It’s a virus called Rinderpest.” He waves his right hand over the hunter before him. “Grain like bumps on the inside of his lips, discharge of watery-bloody mucus from his eyes and nose, rapid breathing, loss of appetite.” He crosses his arm back behind him and nods. “<em>Very </em>curious.”</p><p>“What’s….Curious about it?”</p><p>He looks down at her. “It’s only known to affect animals.” He looks back to the hunter in the bed before them. “It’s quite poetic really, a mudmonkey getting a disease that’s only found in animals. Though, I do wonder how you contracted it, considering you’re not an <em>actual</em> animal.”</p><p>The Winchester matriarch looks down to her son in concern. “Is it….Is it dangerous.”</p><p>“One hundred percent death rate.” Raphael hums to himself. “Still, very curious though, very much so.”</p><p>Dean glares at him. “How the hell is it <em>still </em>curious to you!”</p><p>Raphael hums deeply. “It was eradicated in two-thousand eleven.”</p><p>Both Winchesters stare at him. “Can you…Can you cure it?”</p><p>He sighs, nodding slightly. “I can.” Leaning forward, he curls his hand around the hunter’s forehead, Dean shivers as the Archangel’s tingly grace washes over him, and then he leans back, wiping his hand on his thigh. “It’s been…Shall we say, <em>eradicated</em>.” He smiles slightly at his own joke. “I’ve healed him, the symptoms will fade in time. We need him to eat something so his body can fight off the symptoms on it’s own.” He raises a large hand to the Winchester mother. “Perhaps some broth and bread. Neither are too hard on the stomach and it would give him nutrients his body will need.”</p><p>She nods up at him, giving him a smile. “Yes, I will make sure to get him to eat <em>something, </em>thank you, for helping.”</p><p>The Healer dips his head slightly. “Of course, it’s my job.”</p><p>…</p><p>“So, what was it?” He looks up at the voice, closing the chart he’d been reading through, and smiles to his Captain.</p><p>“Rinderpest.”</p><p>Oren’s eyebrows raise. “<em>Rinderpest</em>.” He tilts his head slightly. “But that only affects animals.”</p><p>“Indeed, it does, I didn’t say anything to the Winchester mother, I did not want to upset her.” Raphael sets the chart down on his desk, crossing his arms behind his back, he looks out over his healers for a moment, before returning his gaze to his Virtue. “But someone engineered it so it <em>could </em>affect a human. Another few days and he would have perished.”</p><p>“How would someone be able to get their hands on it, though?” Oren turns, standing at his side, crossing arms behind himself, Raphael knows he’s being mimicked, but he’ll let it slide this time. “All of those diseases are locked in the cupboard in your office.”</p><p>“Curious thing, the key has gone missing.”</p><p>…</p><p>“We’ve really got to stop meeting like this.” Raphael muses as he leans over the sweating hunter laying in the bed, Mary Winchester at his side again, Castiel standing just a pace away, one might think he wasn’t trusted here. “It’s getting to be rather irritating.”</p><p>“Pot meet kettle, man, this ain’t a thrill ride for me either.”</p><p>He presses the back of his hand to the hunter’s forehead, humming deeply. “Quite a fever, you’ve got there, you’re burning up. Have you a headache?”</p><p>Dean scoffs. “A killer headache. Nothing helps.”</p><p>“Mmm,” the Healer feels around his neck, he sighs when the hunter tenses, and pinches him. “Relax, if I intended to kill you, I wouldn’t do it snapping your neck, I’d just let this disease you’ve contracted run course.”</p><p>“That makes me feel <em>oh </em>so much better, asshole.”</p><p>“Language.” Mary snorts softly at his side and he smiles slightly. “Sorry, force of habit.” The Archangel nods. “You’re lymph nodes are swollen, rather badly too, I’m not surprised you’re experiencing some pain.”</p><p>He straightens up, looking down at the woman at his side, she looks away from her son to meet his eyes. “You said he was coughing up blood?”</p><p>She nods.</p><p>“And, he experienced an episode of delirium?”</p><p>She nods again. “Yes.” Her attention returns to her child. “Is he..Is he okay?”</p><p>Raphael hums, looking back to the bedbound hunter. “Far from it, actually, he has the Bubonic Plague.”</p><p>“<em>What!</em>” Her head snaps back around to him. “My son has the <em>plague!”</em></p><p>“Mmm, he does. The Black Death.” He nods his head at the hunter. “Very lucky, though, most are usually dead at this point.”</p><p>“Heal him, Raphael.”</p><p>The Archangel hums at the voice of the seraph behind him. “Just for you thinking you can order me to do <em>anything</em>.” He turns to look at the younger angel from over his shoulder. “I don’t believe I want to.” He chuckles at the angel blade that slides into his hand. “Please, even if that blade could kill, which it can’t, but if I could, it’s not my brothers you’d have to be most worried about. It’s my son.” He turns slightly. “Would you really want to face the full force of his temper, it’s so much <em>worse </em>then mine is, and as it seems to be, there’s only <em>one </em>who can manage to keep it in check.”</p><p>He looks back around when someone touches his arm, looking down at the mother at his side, she looks up at him. “Please, would you please heal him, I can’t..I can’t lose my son.”</p><p>Raphael understands that fear, he caresses her cheek lightly, he has no qualms with her. “I understand that fear. Yes, I can heal him.”</p><p>…</p><p>“So, tell me, I’m curious,” Oren comes to rest at his side. “What was it this time.”</p><p>He hums softly. “Bubonic Plague.”</p><p>“<em>What!” </em>The Virtue turns to look at him incredulously, he spares him a glance and nods, returning his attention outward. “How did he manage to contract <em>that</em>?”</p><p>“I believe, nothing’s confirmed mind you, that someone is purposefully injecting him with these diseases.”</p><p>…</p><p>The Archangel hums to himself as he examines the hunter, once again. “Where does it hurt?”</p><p>“Everywhere, man.”</p><p>“I see,” he pulls his arm around, running his fingers over the bumps and blisters, nodding softly. “You’ve got a rash.”</p><p>Dean glares at him. “No shit, Sherlock.” He raises a glare back.</p><p>Raphael straightens. “Fever, chills, vomiting, I know what it is, it’s very curious though.”</p><p>Sam Winchester looks up at him, from his right side, and he turns to meet his gaze. “What is it?”</p><p>“Smallpox.” He ignores their incredulous wide eyes. “It has me very curious.”</p><p>“Why?”</p><p>Raphael rubs at his cheek lightly. “Smallpox was eradicated in 1977.”</p><p>The younger hunter turns to him more fully. “<em>How </em>did he contact a disease that’s been <em>eradicated</em>?”</p><p>“That’s what has me so curious, the Bubonic Plague, though rare, has not been eradicated, so that does not surprise me as much as this one does.” He shrugs slightly. “I don’t wish to alarm anyone, but it leads me to believe that someone is purposefully injecting you with these diseases.” He once again ignores their incredulous stares and looks down at the younger hunter beside him. “Do you have cameras set up in the rooms?”</p><p>Sam shakes his head. “We don’t, but we can get some.”</p><p>“I would,” he leans around, straightening up. “See if we can catch this culprit red-handed.”</p><p>…</p><p>“And, this time?”</p><p>“Smallpox.”</p><p>“This all has me very curious.”</p><p>He nods. “It has me very curious too, I had them set up cameras in the hunter’s room, to see if we can catch the culprit on film.”</p><p>“Have you any ideas of who it could be?”</p><p>“Not in the slightest.”</p><p>…</p><p>Raphael stands there silently, both remaining Winchesters at his sides, watching the older hunter groan and cough up mucus and blood into a bowl. “Well, that’s concerning.” He looks down at Mary. “How long has he had this cough?”</p><p>She looks away from her son for a moment. “Four and a half weeks.”</p><p>“I see, how long has he been coughing up blood?”</p><p>She tilts her head, thinking, doing the math in her head. “Two weeks.”</p><p>“Hmm.” He looks around back to the hunter on the bed, his coughing fit having come to an end, rubbing at his chest, as his expression is one caused by immense pain. “Fever, chill, and muscle loss.” The Archangel hums to himself and nods. “Tuberculosis.”</p><p>“Can you…”</p><p>“Yes, I will heal him.” The Healer snaps his fingers. “He’s going to be fine, the blood will stop coming up, but the symptoms will take a few days to fade.” He turns his attention to the younger hunter on his other side. “Tell me, did you catch anything with the cameras?”</p><p>Sam shakes his head. “No, we saw a shadow of a figure appear in the room, but the feed went staticy only moments after they arrived.”</p><p>Raphael turns back to the hunter behind them, crossing his arms lightly, tapping his lip with a finger. “Static, you say?”</p><p>“Yea, and then they just short circuited, stopped recording completely until we replaced the power cord.”</p><p>“Very interesting, very interesting indeed,” he curls his hand around his upper arm loosely. “I will stay tonight and watch over him myself.”</p><p>…</p><p>He settled into a dark corner later that evening, sending a quick message to his Captain of his whereabouts, and <em>if </em>anyone were to ask, to tell them he was on a mission for Father. He snapped himself up a book to read until the hunter turned off his bedside lamp, and turned over onto his side, away from him. He closes his book silently, leaning over to rest it on the floor next to him, and sits back in his chair, he can wait patiently, if they stick to their schedule, they’ll be here, and he’ll wait, he has the patience of a saint. (Pun intended)</p><p>Raphael checks his watch, half passed three, and looks up at the soft sound of a flutter of wings. He rises from his chair silently, making his way across the room without so much as a peep, he’d had his suspicions, there was only a certain few who knew where he kept the key to that cupboard in his office, only a <em>very</em> few who could cause static in a camera feed and burn out a power cord to the point it required a replacement.</p><p>Coming to stand behind his suspect, he leans over, hovering just over their shoulder, curls brushing over his cheek, and whispers in their ear. “You are in <em>so </em>much trouble.”</p><p>
  <em>“Dad!”</em>
</p><p>…</p><p>“Empty your pockets.” Isa looks to his feet, seeing his dad’s hand held out to him, flexing his fingers expectantly. He digs into his pockets, pulling out a small vial and syringe, needle and all, and lays them in his dad’s outstretched. “Polio, Isaiah Ishmael Mostafa, you could have paralyzed that man.” He shrugs slightly. “You don’t care, do you?” He shakes his head. His dad sighs softly, turning slightly, to set his confiscated <em>stolen </em>things down on his desk. He looks up slightly when he sees him hold his hand out again. “Your phone.”</p><p>“Aww, <em>dad</em>!”</p><p>“Your phone, Isaiah.”</p><p>The Nephilim huffs, but reaches into his back pocket, pulling out his phone, and sets it down in his dad’s outstretched hand, he watches his dad slip his phone in his pocket, and his heads forced up, a finger under his chin, looking into his dad’s gentle, but angry, eyes. “You’d best sing, little song bird, what were you <em>thinking</em>?”</p><p>Isa shuffles his feet, but can’t look away from his dad’s eyes, the finger still under his chin, and slowly his eyes water, his dad’s eyes widen in surprise when a tear slips down his cheek. “I wanted to make Castiel <em>suffer</em>, I wanted to take someone he <em>loved</em>, like he did to <em>me</em>! I wanted him to <em>feel </em>what <em>I </em>felt! And there’s no one he loves more then his precious <em>Dean Winchester!” </em>He takes a shaky breath. “I just..I just wanted him to feel the <em>pain </em>that I felt, losing someone he <em>loves</em>, to—to feel like he <em>lost</em> a part of himself, like <em>I </em>did! I just—I just—”</p><p>“You wanted him to feel the same heartbreak he put you through.” Raphael sighs softly, he wants to be upset at his child, for putting someone’s life in danger like that, but to know that he did so because he wanted someone to feel the same pain he did, not out of revenge, but to show them how much it hurts, breaks his heart, and makes it rather difficult for him to be angry at the boy. “Come here, my little one.” He stands straighter, from leaning against the edge of his desk, and opens his arms. “Come here.”</p><p>The Nephilim steps forward, more tears dripping down his cheeks, and buries himself into his embrace, crying into his chest. His poor, heartbroken boy, still suffering that tragic wound even with him being here now. Suffering in silence. Not telling a single soul. “Why didn’t you tell me you were still feeling this way, my little one?” He pets his curls back. “Why didn’t you come to me?”</p><p>“E—Everyone was so h—happy and I didn’t w—want to r—ruin it!” The boy inhales shakily. “I—I just wanted h—him to know what i—it felt like to be all—all alone!” He feels his fingers curl in the back of his jacket. “I—I just wanted h—him to feel what I—I f—felt!”</p><p>“Oh, my child, I wish you would have told me.” He rubs his hand down the back of his. “We’re going to go, and we’re going to spend some time together, just you and me, no interruptions, just us.”</p><p>Isa nods against his chest, he’d like that, he just wants to be with his dad, he wants him to help him feel better.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0035"><h2>35. Temporary Insanity</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He waits until the boy grows complacent, comfortable in his surroundings, before he strikes.</p><p>Isa yelps as he’s lifted off his feet suddenly, and he kicks his feet out, looking down, seeing the dark arms curled around his lower belly, and he curls his fingers around them, turning his head slightly. “Hi, dad.”</p><p>“Hello, my little one.”</p><p>“Um, not that I don’t like it when you hold me,” Isa feels like he’s in a very precarious position. “But, why are you holding me?”</p><p>Raphael hums softly. “We have some business to attend to, my child.”</p><p>The Nephilim squirms slightly, kicking his feet again, tugging at the arms curled around him. “We….do?”</p><p>He feels his dad nod. “We do. Did you think you could attempt to <em>prank </em>me, and get away with it?”</p><p>“Dad! <em>Dad!” </em>He shrieks brightly when fingers dig into his sides. “I can explain! <em>I can explain!”</em></p><p>His dad chuckles softly, his fingers pausing in their assault. “Oh <em>really</em>, go on, I think I want to hear this.” Isa thinks as hard as he can, shrieking and giggling when those fingers dig in again, trying to grab them with his own. “I’m waiting, Isa, but my patience wears thin.”</p><p>He spits out the first thing that comes to mind. “Temporary insanity!”</p><p>Raphael gives it a moment before he responds, taking time to mull that one around his head, that’s the <em>best </em>excuse his son has <em>ever </em>come up with. “<em>Temporary insanity? </em>That’s your explanation, temporary insanity.”</p><p>“You know what, that’s the first thing that came to my mind.” The Nephilim nods lightly. “So, I’ll just go with it.”</p><p>Isa smiles at his dad’s soft deep laughter echoing behind him, and those fingers dig back in, and he shrieks again, boisterous laughter erupting from him, folding forward slightly, curling his fingers around his dad’s in an attempt at stopping them, it doesn’t work, he keeps digging in and wiggling his fingers in his sides, his kicks his legs slightly, and presses back against his dad’s chest, he feels him rest his chin on his shoulder, his voice soft in his ear. “If <em>anything</em>, you give <em>me</em>, temporary insanity.”</p><p>He turns them around, still assaulting his child’s side, not inhibited by his struggles in the slightest, making his way down the hall to his room. “Come, my little one, let’s have some <em>quality time </em>together.”</p><p>“I dohohohon’t thiihihihihink I wahahahahaant tohohohoho!”</p><p>“It’s funny that you think I was giving you an <em>option.</em>”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0036"><h2>36. Your Daring (Continuation Of Chapter 7 From Used To Be)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>For Buddy14, who wanted to see the after of that scene in Chapter 7 of Used To Be</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“How <em>dare </em>you speak to me like that.” His dad sounds really, <em>really </em>mad, and he vaguely thinks to himself that he might have crossed a line with that one. “How <em>dare </em>you talk to your father that way.”</p><p>Isa whines as he’s tugged into his dad’s room by the ear, his fingers coming up to curl around his wrist, and he whines when the fingers around his ear squeeze tighter. His own anger overcomes his common sense, and that voice in the back of his head telling him <em>not </em>to do something <em>stupid</em>, when he digs his nails into his dad’s wrist until he finds the pressure point that releases his fingers, and he whirls around.</p><p>“How dare <em>you </em>think you can <em>forget </em>about me and start playing <em>parent </em>again when it <em>suits </em>you!” Perhaps, he’s crossing another line, when he reels his arm back and slaps the Archangel across the face. “<em>You’re </em>not my <em>dad</em>!”</p><p>When the gravity of what he’d just done finally sinks in, he stares at his raised hand in horror, oh, my god, he just <em>slapped </em>his <em>dad</em>. <em>He just slapped his dad! </em>He’s going to die here, right here, in this room, his dad is going to <em>kill </em>him.</p><p>He backs up a step, when he sees his dad’s thundering eyes staring down at him, raising his hands defensively. “Dad, I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to! I’m sorry! I was just really angry! I didn’t mean to!” He retreats when his dad stalks forward, not uttering a word, his eyes widening when he realizes he’s backing up towards a wall, between a rock and a hard place, or in this case, between a solid wall and his enraged father. “Dad! Dad, no! I’m sorry! I’m really sorry! I didn’t mean to! I swear! I’m sorry!”</p><p>The Archangel’s hand shoots out, fingers curling tightly in the front of his shirt, and his eyes widen fearfully when he’s lifted off his feet, his fingers coming up to curl around his wrist, and he’s pulled in close, until their face to face, and he stares at him, he locks eyes with his dad and just stares.</p><p>“Not as sorry as you’re <em>going </em>to be.” His voice rumbles lowly, like a rumble of thunder in a storm, and Isa gulps softly. “You <em>dare </em>to raise a hand <em>against</em> me.” His dad’s eyes flicker slightly. “You <em>dare </em>to <em>strike </em>me.”</p><p>“Dad, dad I’m sorry! I just lost my temper!”</p><p>“I’ve <em>warned </em>you to keep that temper of yours <em>in check</em>.” He’s shaken lightly. “It gets you into <em>nothing </em>but <em>trouble</em>.” The Healer hums softly, deeply, examining his facial features. “I think we need to do something a bit more <em>memorable</em>. So if you <em>ever </em>think about <em>striking </em>me again, it <em>haunts</em> you.”</p><p>The Nephilim visibly gulps, and then he whimpers. “Daddy…”</p><p>Raphael ignores him, turning for his bed, carrying him forward by the front of his shirt. He curls his fingers in the back of his shirt, and sets him down, pushing him forcefully down over the edge of the bed.</p><p>Isa whines softly when he feels his father’s fingers curl around the waist of his jeans, and tugs them down, his bottom exposed for whatever tortures awaits him now, he pushes his arms up himself, and tries to lift himself up, but his dad presses a hand between his shoulders and forces him back down. He tries again, and finds that this time, this time he <em>can’t </em>move, he’s being held down by his dad’s grace this time, and he whimpers softly. “I think we need to have a bit of a <em>warm up </em>before we get to your <em>actual</em> punishment.” The Archangel’s voice rumbles deeply from above him, and he stretches his arms out, curling his fingers in the blanket underneath him, biting his lip as he gulps again.</p><p>Silence falls behind him, his dad’s not a lecturer, not when it comes to physical punishment, but rest assured, he can give you a tongue lashing just as good as the next guy.</p><p>He tenses, waiting in anticipation for whatever’s about to come, gripping the blanket in his fingers tightly. Something whistles through the air, he doesn’t know what it is, yet, and he screams when it smacks down harshly over his bare bottom, forcing him forward, he jumps, as much as the hold around him will allow, and it’s only one blow, but he can already feel tears making his eyes burn.</p><p>It whistles again, and he screams just as loud as the first time, he knows what it is, he <em>knows</em>, it’s a paddle, a <em>hard and solid </em>wooden paddle, his dad is <em>paddling </em>him, and this is just the <em>warm up</em>.</p><p>Isa hears it whistle through the air, and he screams again when it smacks down, an audible crack echoing around them, it’s only three strikes in, for an unknown amount, and tears are <em>already</em> streaming down his face. Only three strikes in and his butt <em>already </em>feels like it’s on <em>fire.</em></p><p>He presses his face into his dad’s blankets under him and screams again when it smacks down, a sob tearing from his chest, and that’s when his begging starts up, he just wants it to <em>stop</em>.</p><p>“D—Daahahahaaddy! I—I’m sohohorry! No more! Noho mohore!” He screams when it comes down again, just as harsh as the first four, and jumps forward as much as he’s allowed, another sob tearing from his chest. “D—D—Dahahahaaddy pleheheheease! Plehehehease! I—I—I’m sohohorry! N—Nohoho mohohore! N—N—No m—mohohore!”</p><p>Now, Raphael’s heart is not made of stone, despite what some may believe, and his son’s cries cut through him, they break his heart, they really do, he does <em>not</em> take <em>enjoyment</em> in making his child sob like this, making him scream and jump forward, turning his bottom as red as a tomato. But this is a lesson he wants him to learn and he wants him to learn it <em>well</em>. He is <em>never </em>to strike <em>him</em>, no matter <em>how</em> angry he is, he is <em>never </em>to raise a hand <em>against </em>him.</p><p>So, he steels himself, hardens his heart against the boys cries and begging, reels his arm back, and brings the paddle back down again, with another resounding crack, making the boy scream again and choke on a sob as he jumps forward as much as his hold will allow.</p><p>No matter how hard he tries to steel himself against it, though, his heart still aches, desiring nothing more then to stop this, and pull the boy into his arms, just to hold him until his cries fall silent, and wipe away the tears, to make him smile again, even if that smile is a tad watery.</p><p>But he refrains, reels his arm back again, and another resounding crack echoes around the room, another scream follows after, and another sob tears from the boy’s chest.</p><p>There’s ten in total, they’re harsh, they burn and sting at the same time, and Isa pulls his hands away from his dad’s blankets, to bury his fingers in his curls and just clutch at them. Over his own loud cries and sobbing, he vaguely hears the distinct sound of the paddle being set down, and the clinking of a belt buckle, and <em>that </em>sound makes him cry harder, because the <em>paddle </em>was only the warm up, and he had twenty-six more wallops to go.</p><p>The leather belt whistles too, as it swings through the air, and he screams, a shriek mixed in, perhaps it’s more like a screech, when it whips down over his already beaten bottom, he reaches his arms back out, his fingers curling in the blankets again, and he pushes with his legs, his feet pushing, trying to pull himself away, and he screeches when the belt comes back down, a loud crack echoing around him, his feet falling out from under him.</p><p>He forgoes his begging, he knows they’re falling on deaf ears, and by the time they reach the tenth crack, he’s just laying there limply, his face pressing into the blankets, fingers still clutching at them above his head, his legs laying stretched out behind him, sobbing harshly in the blankets under his face, screeching and jolting each and every time the belt comes cracking down.</p><p>Isa tries to keep count, he really does, but by the time they reach fifteen the belt seems to start coming down harder, harsher then the first ones, and he loses count, the only thing his mind can focus on is just how <em>much </em>his butt <em>hurts</em>. It’s <em>beyond </em>burning, <em>beyond </em>stinging, it’s….it’s…..you know that feeling you get, when you break your arm really bad, like really, <em>really </em>bad, and it’s just all over <em>agonizing</em>? He’s broken his arm that bad before, the bone sticking out and everything, and he’d take that over this, but that pain, that <em>agonizing </em>pain, that, <em>that’s</em> how his butt feels.</p><p>It feels like, when you get a really bad sunburn, or heck, a <em>regular </em>burn, and you just keep touching it, and the pain is so <em>overwhelming</em>. That’s how his butt feels.</p><p>He knows how this is going to end. He knows, it happens <em>every</em> time he ends up in this position, his dad will pull him too his feet, guide him, a tad roughly, to the <em>solid and hard </em>wooden chair at his desk, and make him <em>sit </em>there, his bare beaten bottom resting on the cool <em>hard </em>surface, for <em>five</em> minutes, just <em>stewing </em>in the agony.</p><p>But then, then comes to good part, his favorite part, where he’s allowed up, and he’ll jump, he’ll <em>spring </em>out of the chair and rub at his abused butt miserably, bouncing in place, before tugging up his boxers and kicking his jeans off, because there is no way in <em>hell </em>he’s putting <em>those </em>back on, deep sobs tearing up his throat, and his dad will open his arms, and he’ll jump forward, <em>into </em>those arms, and he’ll lift him up into his arms, completely off his feet, and hold him, just hold him, swaying softly in a slow circle, rubbing his back, humming softly, deep in his chest, the way he does when he’s trying to comfort patients who are particularly bad off, and he’ll fall asleep, his head cushioned on his dad’s shoulder, soothed by his humming and the gentle rubbing over his back.  Or, <em>or</em> once he’s calmed down, no longer sobbing, his breathing under control, his dad will lay him down on one side of the bed, and he’ll lay on the other, and his dad will stroke a finger over his forehead, and his grace will run over his body torturously, getting all his worst spots, and he’ll chuckle his deep chuckles, as he squirms and shrieks and squeals as his dad’s grace <em>wrecks </em>him, until he’s breathless, and the tears that stream down his face are tears of laughter and not of the pain and agony of a burning bottom. Or, or, <em>or </em>he’ll lay him down on one side of the bed, and he’ll lay on the other, his arms curling back around him, pulling him into his chest, tucking his head under his chin, a warm finger tracing little shapes and runes on the back of his neck, and he’ll lay there, tucked in close to his dad’s warm body, pressing against his chest, listening to his chest rumble softly as he hums under his breath, his dad is a hummer, he’s always humming, <em>always. </em></p><p>But he likes it, everyone he cares for likes it, it’s soothing, it calms the nerves, it makes all the tension just melt away. It always makes him fall asleep, whenever he’s particularly restless and can’t get his mind to calm down enough to just <em>sleep</em>, or he’s too scared to sleep, afraid of having nightmares of things long passed, or he’s having an insomniac episode, his dad will pull him close, always super warm, pull the blankets up over them, tucking him under his chin and against his chest, and just hum. He just holds him, all warm and snug, and hums, and he’ll be asleep in minutes, clutching lightly at the front of the Archangel’s shirt, his dad keeping the bad dreams away that haunt his mind.</p><p>He likes all three, you never know which one you’ll get, his dad’s secretive like that, it’s always a surprise, and you never get the same one twice in a row, he wants to keep you guessing which one you’ll get.</p><p>Isa loves his dad.</p><p>He <em>really </em>loves him.</p><p>And, his anger aside, though faded now as it may be, he is happy that he’s back, he <em>is</em>.</p><p>He’s <em>nothing </em>without his dad. His dad is <em>all </em>he has. He’s <em>everything </em>to him. He’s <em>lost </em>without him. His dad is the <em>one </em>thing that keeps him <em>going</em>.</p><p>Isa can’t <em>imagine </em>a world <em>without </em>his dad. He can’t <em>live </em>in a world <em>without </em>him. He just <em>can’t</em>.</p><p>His dad can <em>never</em> know, never<em> ever</em> know, what he did when he was <em>taken </em>from him. Never. He can never see his wings again, <em>never</em>, not until the feathers grow back, at least, because he’ll ask <em>questions, </em>and he <em>knows</em> he won’t like the answers to those questions. He can’t <em>know </em>about how <em>reckless </em>he became, how he just threw <em>all </em>his cares to the wind, and tried, tried so hard, to be able to join him.</p><p>He can <em>never </em>know.</p><p>Because, it would hurt him, it would make him upset and sad, and he doesn’t want to make his dad upset and sad.</p><p>But then, he reminds himself, his dad <em>is </em>an Archangel, he could just look through his memories, heck, he could <em>already </em>know.</p><p>By the time they reach the twenty-sixth lash, he’s sobbing into his hands, full on hyperventilating sobbing. He hears the belt being set down, the slight pressure of his dad’s grace fading away, and fingers curl into the back of his shirt lifting him to his feet, he stumbles slightly, off balance, but warm hands catch him around the waist before he can fall over.</p><p>Raphael leads the sobbing boy across his room, to the desk chair, as they always do, and turns him around, pushing him down gently to sit his bare bottom on the hard seat. His son sobs deeply as he does, whining and crying out, squirming in his seat. He presses a hand to the top of his head. “Sit still. No squirming.” The boy cries harder and falls still, bending over on himself, sobbing into his hands, and he nods lightly, scratching at the boy’s head softly, in a manner to show him he’s forgiven, and turns away, cleaning up a bit, he tucks the paddle back into the bottom drawer of his desk, and returns the belt to hang on the inside of the wardrobe door, straightens out his blankets, returns to his child’s side for a moment, squatting in front of him silently, to untie his hightops and pull them off his feet, leaving him again, to sit there and sob for his mandatory five minutes, and sets his sneakers down next to his sandals, and leans over untie and unbuckle his boots, pulling them off carefully, he sets them on the other side of his child’s shoes, then he crosses back over, to his bed, sitting on the edge, keeping track of the time mentally.</p><p>He nods when he reaches the five-minute ending, and stands from the edge of his bed, watching his boy carefully, he was a bitter rougher then he should have been, ashamedly, he allowed his anger to overcome his senses, and had taken it out on his son’s bottom. It was wrong of him. He will <em>never </em>allow it to happen again. He does not <em>abuse </em>people, he is not <em>cruel, </em>and what he’d done is drawing ever close to that line between <em>disciplining</em> someone and <em>beating</em> them.</p><p>Unfortunately, he can’t take back what he did, but he can make it more bearable. He won’t take the sting away, he wants that to remain for a long while, but he can help to lessen it.</p><p>“Okay, Isa, you can stand.” The Nephilim shoots up, jumping, perhaps using a bit of his power to rocket himself onto his feet. “Leave your drawers down.”</p><p>His son’s head shoots up, eyes widening, crying out. “<em>Daddy!”</em></p><p>Raphael shakes his head quickly, raising a hand to placate his fears. “I’m not going to strike you again. I just want to take a look at the damage done to your bottom.”</p><p>As his son bounces, rubbing at his <em>undoubtedly </em>burning rear end, as he knows he was wont to do, he steps forward, for the cabinet above his desk, and pulls the door open, sifting through the jars for the one he wants. He hums when he finds it, a small dark jar, and pulls it out, closing the door once more, returning to his bedside, he sets it down, and turns to the boy, looking up at him pitifully.</p><p>The Archangel smiles lightly and opens his arms to him. “Come here, my little one.”</p><p>Isa darts forward, and he bends slightly at the knees, catching him about the middle, and lifts him off his feet, his legs curling around his waist and his arms around his neck, a cool slick cheek brushes against his.</p><p>“I—I’m sorry, daddy.”</p><p>“I know you are, my little one.” He rubs his back soothingly, his other arm curled under him, turning slightly to press a kiss under his ear. “I’m sorry too, I lost my temper, and took it out on you.”</p><p>“I—It’s okay, daddy.” The boy sniffles softly. “I d—deserved it.”</p><p>He leans his head against the boy’s gently, his curls brushing against his ear, and shakes his head, swaying them around in a slow gentle circle. “No, Isa, it’s not, you did not deserve it, no matter how upset I am at your actions, I take pride in not punishing you whilst angry, it’s not fair to you, that causes my actions to borderline on abuse, and I do <em>not </em>want to be an abusive parent.” He presses his nose to the side of the boy’s neck, closing his eyes, savoring the fact in being able to hold him in his arms. If he had been in Isa’s place, in his <em>‘shoes’</em>, he’d have run away, wanting to be as far away from him as possible. “So, I’m sorry, so sorry, little one, it’ll <em>never </em>happen again.”</p><p>The Healer feels the boy nod, his curls brushing over his cheek and the side of his forehead, as he pulls away from his neck. “I—I’m happy y—you’re back daddy. I—I’m missed you s—so much.”</p><p>Raphael smiles, pressing another kiss under his little one’s ear. “I missed you too, my little one, I’m sorry, for turning away from you like I did. You have every right to be upset with me.”</p><p>“I—I’m just happy y—you’re back.”</p><p>“I’m happy to be back.” He chuckles softly. “Now, I can ensure you’re not getting into trouble, as I’m <em>sure </em>you were, in my absence.”</p><p>Isa licks his lips, he doesn’t want to keep secrets from his dad, especially if he’s just going to find out anyway. “Daddy, I have something I have to tell you, but it’ll make you upset.”</p><p>“Oh?” his dad’s voice rumbles beside him. “Pray tell, what have you got to tell me?”</p><p>The Nephilim rests his chin on his father’s shoulders. “Daddy…Daddy, I was just so upset, because you were gone, and…and I can’t live without you….and….and I was just so upset and I wanted something to take the hurt away…..”</p><p>His dad doesn’t stop rubbing his back, nor does he stop swaying them around, he just waits patiently. “What did you do, my little one?”</p><p>Isa hides into his dad’s shoulder as he prepares to admit what he’s done. “I…I tore most of the feathers out of my wings.” He’s silent for a long moment, his dad, and he fears that he’s made him upset with him for doing it. “I’m sorry, daddy….I know it’s bad….I was just…I was just so upset and didn’t know what else to do and just wanted something to take my mind off of how much it hurt….I’m sorry, daddy, please don’t hate me.”</p><p>“Oh, Isa, I could never hate you.” He curls a hand around the back of the boy’s head, scratching through his curls, at his scalp, soothingly. “You are my whole world. I could never hate you. We will take a look at the damage and get your wings patched up, they’ll be as good as new before you know it, this isn’t the first time you’ve pulled feathers from your wings, is it?” His heart breaks when the boy takes a moment, and shakes his head against his shoulder, and he sighs softly. “Isa, I’m going to teach you coping methods that aren’t destructive, when you feel as though you can’t get your emotions under control, and if those don’t work, I want you to come to me, and we will get through that time together, alright?”</p><p>The Nephilim nods against his shoulder. “Okay, daddy.”</p><p>“Very good,” Raphael turns to his bed. “Let’s lay you down and I’ll look over your bottom.”</p><p>“It really hurts, daddy, it hurts really bad.”</p><p>“I imagine it does,” he presses a kiss to the boy’s forehead when he pulls away from his shoulder to meet his eyes. “Let me take a look.”</p><p>“Okay, daddy.” He sets the boy on his feet, and Isa turns, climbing up onto his dad’s bed, crawling up to rest against the pillows on his side. He feels the bed dip beside him, and a cool hand presses to his left cheek, and he turns to lay his head on his arms. “Daddy, how do you control the temperature in your hands, how can they be warm one minute and cool the next?”</p><p>“Electricity produces heat, I usually keep my grace just under my skin, close to the surface, hence the warm hands. When I push it back, it cools, hence the cool hands.”</p><p>“That’s so cool.” Isa giggles softly. “Pun intended.”</p><p>His dad chuckles softly in amusement, and he squeaks when a finger prods into his side, curving away from it. “That was a <em>horrible </em>pun, Isa.”</p><p>He feels him rub something over his bottom, and bids his time, sighing when the burn fades slightly, becoming less unbearable. He hears the jar being set on the bedside table, and his dad stretching out, he looks down, seeing him cross his ankles, and that’s when he snarks back. “I don’t know, I thought it was pretty <em>chill</em>.”</p><p>He smiles when he hears his dad sigh deeply, yelping when fingers curl around the other side of his ribs, and pull him around, looking up when a finger brushes over his forehead, before letting him go. At first, nothing happens, and he closes his eyes, thinking it’s a false alarm, when he feels the tingles over his ribs, his eyes shoot back open. The Nephilim shrieks, when it feels like ten invisible fingers are digging into his ribs, and rolls over onto his back, shrieking with laughter as he arches his back, rubbing at his ribs, as though to rub away those invisible fingers.</p><p>“Dahhaahahahhahaad! Nohohohhohoho!”</p><p>Raphael chuckles softly. “Go ahead, make another pun, I dare you.”</p><p>“Dohohon’t <em>cohohold </em>ahahaha gruhuhuhudge!”</p><p>“Did you just say, <em>‘don’t cold a grudge’</em>?”</p><p>Isa shrieks, when he feels the tingly grace wash over every bone, arching his back again, and nods his head. His eyes widen when his dad raises his hands slightly, and he reaches up, curling his fingers around his hand. “Dahahahhaad! Nohohohoho! Nohohohoo! Dohohohohon’t!” His dad flicks his fingers slightly, and he squeals, when those invisible fingers dig into his belly, it’s like their clawing in, he can’t stand that, his dad does it <em>all the time </em>because he’s a cruel and capricious being, and he knows he can’t take it.</p><p>“Oh, ho, ho, I’m a <em>‘cruel and capricious’ </em>being?”</p><p>“Dohhohohohon’t lihihihihisten tohhohohoho myhyhyhyhy thohohohohoughts!” He arches his back and squeals again. “Stohohohohop! Eieieieieieiieaieaiaeiaiaaaahahahhahahahahha! Stohohohohop thehehehehem! Aaahahahahahhahahaa aieeieeiieieieaiaiaaaiaiaaahahahahahhahahhaa! Dahahahahahahhaaad! Ihihihihit tihihihihickles! Stohhohohhhoohohop!”</p><p>“I don’t think so, tell me, I’m interested.” His dad sounds so amused, <em>what a bastard</em>, and he squeals when one of those invisible fingers dip into his belly. “Oh, so, I’m not just <em>‘cruel and capricious’</em>, but I’m also a <em>‘bastard’</em>.”</p><p>“Stohohohohop lihihihihistening tohohoho myhyhyhy thohohhoughts! Nohohohohot <em>coohohohohool!</em>”</p><p>“And <em>another</em> horrible pun.” He sees his dad shakes his head lightly, and raise his hand again, it’s his other hand, and he can’t reach it, to curl his fingers around his. “Tsk, tsk, Isa, I think this calls for some sort of <em>rectification</em>.”</p><p>He’s going to snap his fingers. <em>He’s going to snap his fingers</em>. He <em>cannot</em> let him snap his fingers.</p><p>Isa rolls over, cackling at the invisible fingers still digging into his belly, and pushes himself up, flinging himself across his dad to catch his fingers before he can snap them. But his dad raises his hand slightly, just out of his reach, grunting softly when he flops down over his belly, snaps his fingers, and rests his hands down on the middle of his back.</p><p>It takes a moment, he prepares himself for it, it’s going to be <em>so </em>bad, and he <em>screams</em>, squirming harder, when invisible fingers appear <em>everywhere</em>. Clawing into his belly, squeezing and kneading at his thighs, flicking over his armpits, weaving between his toes, <em>everywhere</em>. He tries to push himself up, possibly get himself to Uncle Micha, he’ll c<em>rawl </em>there if he has to, be <em>damned </em>on if anyone sees, Uncle Micha could make it stop, if he’s in a merciful mood.</p><p>
  <em>What if he’s not though?</em>
</p><p>The hands resting on his back move, lifting away, and he shrieks when fingers dig into his sides, actual physical fingers. He flops back down, trying to push himself away, and ends up rolling over, hanging over the side of the bed, over his dad’s belly, and a hand sneaks up under his shirt, those invisible fingers moving over to his sides, those real fingers claw in, and he squeals, reaching up to push at the hand under his shirt, and in return, another hand joins the first, and ten actual fingers claw viciously into his belly, and he squeals again, arching his back.</p><p>He can hardly hear him over his own hysterical cackles. “Let me be a ‘<em>cruel and capricious bastard’</em>.”</p><p>And, Isa realizes, with an impending sense of doom, that it’s going to be a <em>long </em>night.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0037"><h2>37. Are You Shitting Me Right Now?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Castiel rises from his chair, Raphael watches him, unphased by his change in demeanor. “Then, I won’t let you.”</p><p>“Really,” the Archangel sounds uninterested in his attempt to appear threatening. “You, Castiel?”</p><p>“Are you <em>shitting </em>me right now!” Both angels raise an eyebrow, Castiel turns to look for it’s source, and spins around, a sharp <em>crack </em>echoes around the room, the two guards across from them turn to watch the Seraph tumble to the floor, unmoving, behind him stands a teenager. Skin the color of mocha, eyes the color of bright blue electricity, and curls hanging freely of their own accord, a metal baseball bat clutched in their right hand. “You <em>ditched</em> me for <em>him</em>!”</p><p>Raphael’s lips quirk into a slight smile. “Where’d you get that bat?”</p><p>“Oh, this old thing?” The boy holds it up, the one edge painted red with blood. “My closet.” He drops the bat, it clinks against the floor underfoot, and skips forward, plopping himself down over the Archangel’s lap, reaching for the glass of scotch on the table next to them. “Heard there was a bitch taking up your time, so I came to investigate.” His fingers only just curl around the rim of the glass, when a large dark hand curls around the bottom and pulls it from his grasp, he groans and sits back, resting against the Archangel’s arm. “Come <em>on</em>, dad!” He looks up at him as he takes a sip. “Just a small <em>sip</em>.”</p><p>“You won’t like it, Isa.”</p><p>“How will we know, if we never let me try it?”</p><p>Raphael raises an eyebrow, smiling lightly in amusement, and holds the glass out to the boy taking up occupancy in his lap, pressing the rim to his lips. “Go on and try it then.”</p><p>The Nephilim curls his lips around the edge of the glass, taking a small sip, and makes a face, turning his head away. “That’s <em>gross</em>!”</p><p>The Archangel chuckles softly, taking another sip for himself, before setting the glass back down. “I did warn you, did I not?”</p><p>Isa groans, flopping back against his arm, throwing his head back. “I <em>hate </em>it when you’re right!”</p><p>“I usually always am.”</p><p>“That just makes it even worse!” With his head thrown back, he doesn’t see his father’s eyes examining his neck, open and accessible to him. He does, however, feel it when his dad burrows into the side of his neck, and he shrieks brightly, trying to straighten up, but he can’t, he’s trapped. “Dahahahad! Nohohoho! Nohohot fahahahair!” He reaches up, trying to push the Archangel away, and shrieks again, when he bites into his neck playfully, and he instead pushes against his chest, tumbling over the edge, flopping down to the floor under them, giggling as he rubs at the side of his neck. “Nohohot cohohool!”</p><p>“You were in the perfect position, child, it was an opportunity I simply couldn’t pass on.”</p><p>“I hate you!”</p><p>“You do not.”</p><p>Isa smiles, pushing himself up, reclaiming his spot on the Archangel’s lap, leaning against him when he feels his arms wrap around his waist, and looks down at the unconscious seraph on the floor. “So, like, is he dead?”</p><p>Raphael hums, leaning forward slightly to see his younger brother laying in a heap on the floor, and shakes his head. “No, he is not dead.”</p><p>“Okay, ‘cause I was gonna say, if we need to hide the body, I can make that happen.”</p><p>He sits back once more, looking up at the boy, staring until he turns to meet his gaze. “How, pray tell, would you be able to make that happen?” He hums, amending himself. “<em>Why </em>do you know how to make that happen?”</p><p>The Nephilim shrugs slightly, rubbing a finger over the tie running down his chest, and looks back up to meet his eyes. “Because, you never know when you’ll need to stash a body, in my opinion, it’s always best to be prepared.”</p><p>“And, child, tell me, how would you know how to make that happen?”</p><p>Isa smiles at him slightly. “I know people.”</p><p>“Oppugnant people.”</p><p>He tilts his head. “What?”</p><p>“Unfavorable people.”</p><p>“Oh, that,” the boy tilts his head slightly and nods. “I guess you could say that.” He quickly amends when he sees his father’s expression. “But, they’re really not <em>that </em>bad.”</p><p>“Then, pray tell, why would they need to know how to dispose of a body?”</p><p>“I mean, it’s a good skill to have.” Isa tries to defend. “You never know when it might come in handy. Is it so wrong to be prepared for anything?”</p><p>Raphael snorts softly, shaking his head, patting the boy’s outer thigh lightly. “I can’t believe we are having this conversation.”</p><p>“Well, you didn’t have to ask questions.” The teenager shrugs. “So, it’s really <em>your</em> own fault.”</p><p>“Oh, is it now?” Isa thinks to himself, he may have asked for it, when fingers squeeze into his thigh sharply, and he shrieks again, jolting away from them. “Is it my fault, finding it questionable that my son knows people who could dispose of bodies?”</p><p>“Nohohot! Nohoho! Nohohot yohohour fahahault!” He tugs at the fingers curled into his thigh. “Nohohot! Ihihit’s nohohot!”</p><p>“That’s what I thought you’d say.” Blessedly, those fingers pull away, and it allows him to calm down again, leaning against his dad’s chest, resting his head on his shoulder lightly. “Have you ever needed to make use of this particular skill?”</p><p>“Well, my own personal wellbeing in mind, I don’t think I want to answer that question.”</p><p>“<em>That </em>is answer enough.”</p><p>“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”</p><p>“I’m sure you don’t.” They both look around, down to the Seraph on the floor, when they hear him groan, watching him as he reaches back to feel the back of his head, and slowly push himself up. “Castiel.” Raphael tugs the boy back down when he makes to get up.</p><p>The Seraph looks up at them in surprise.</p><p>Isa waves at him. “Hey, you little bitch.”</p><p>“Isaiah, mind your language.”</p><p>“Sorry, dad.” The boy lifts one of the Archangel’s hands and curls it around his mouth. “Won’t happen again.”</p>
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<a name="section0038"><h2>38. I Have Lost Myself</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He hears someone land behind him, the soft sound of boots thumping against the roof of the apartment building, he ignores them, staring down at the street below, standing on the edge, a tear trickles down his nose and falls away.</p><p>“Isa.”</p><p>“I wasn’t going to jump.” He sniffs softly, rubbing at his nose with the sleeve of his hoodie, balled up in his fist. “I wasn’t going to jump, Ak.”</p><p>“Isa, why don’t you come down from the ledge.”</p><p>“Why?” The Nephilim’s voice breaks. “I’m not going to jump.” He lets his hand drop back to his side. “I don’t want to die.” He’s not sure who he’s trying to convince, himself or his brother, he doesn’t sound very convincing. “Do you think it would though….You know….If I were to jump…..Do you think it would kill me?”</p><p>“Little brother, I need you to come down from the ledge.”</p><p>“I’m so tired, Ak.” He inhales a shaky breath. “I’m so tired of this. I’m tired of it all. I’m tired of all the pain and heartache and loss, I’m tired, Ak, I just want…..I just want it to be <em>done</em>.”</p><p>“Isa, don’t talk like that, come down, and we’ll talk.”</p><p>Isa falls silent for a moment, staring down at the street, as another tear drips from the tip of his nose. “I just want it to be <em>over</em>.” He takes another shaky breath. “Ak, can you tell my dad something, can you tell him something for me?”</p><p>“Isa—”</p><p>“Will you tell him that I love him?” He shuffles closer to the ledge, his toes hanging over the edge, and he exhales softly. “Will you tell him that I’m sorry?” The Nephilim turns around to look at the angel behind him, Akriel looks so sad, he’s heartbroken, reaching out to him, he looms just before the edge behind him. “Will you tell him I’m sorry, Ak, that I didn’t mean to hurt him?”</p><p>“Isa, come down, come down and we’ll talk, just come down.”</p><p>He shakes his head. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry I’ve been such a burden to you all, that I’m always getting into some kind of trouble, I’m sorry, I don’t mean to.” He spreads his arms. “Will you tell dad that for me, please Ak?”</p><p>“Isa, you can tell him yourself, come down, come down, Isa.”</p><p>The Healer’s son shakes his head again. “I love you guys. I’m sorry.” And, then he steps off the edge.</p><p>He stares up at the sky as he falls, the wind rushing passed him, he feels……he feels empty. He’s not scared. He’s ready. He’s just ready. He closes his eyes, exhaling softly, soon, it’ll all be better, he won’t feel like this anymore, he’ll be <em>done</em>.</p><p>The Nephilim screams when something catches him around the middle, wheezing from the pressure, and his eyes fly open, staring at his brother’s chest, feeling the beats of his wings, as they rise, away from the ground, away from the roof, away from the <em>end</em>.</p><p>“NO! <em>No!”</em> Isa pushes against the chest in front of him. “Let me go! <em>Let me go! </em>I want—I want it! I want to <em>die</em>! I want to just <em>sleep</em>! Let me go!” He claws his fingers in, pushing with all his might, but the Virtue’s grip around him is solid. “Please! <em>Please</em>! Please just let me go! <em>Please, Ak! </em>Please, please let me go!”</p><p>He gets no verbal response, and he just breathes out a sob, pushing against him as much as he can, to force him to let go, to make him lose his grip, anything, anything to get him to <em>let go</em>. He doesn’t notice when they break through the barrier, he doesn’t even notice when they land, not until he yells at him, yells at him to let him go, and he does, sending him crashing to the stone floor under him.</p><p>Isa looks up, around, as healers turn to look at them, and then he turns back to his older brother, tears and anger overcoming him. “Why! <em>WHY! </em>Why’d you stop me!” He scrambles up, jumping forward, shoving the Virtue in the chest. “WHY! It could have been <em>over</em>! I could have been <em>done!</em> I wanted it! I <em>wanted </em>it!”</p><p>“Isa, I’m sorry—”</p><p>“<em>I wanted to die! </em>I wanted it! Why’d you take it from me! Why! Why’d you do that!” He shoves him again, and Akriel stumbles back a step, his arms raising to balance himself. <em>“I wanted to die, Ak! </em>Why couldn’t you just let me! <em>Why!” </em></p><p>Arms curl around him from behind but he pays them no mind. “Why’d you do that, Ak! Huh, why! I wanted to! <em>I wanted to!</em>” A warm hand curls around his forehead. “Ak! WHY! You shouldn’t have stopped me! Why’d you stop me!”</p><p>He feels something wash over him, peace, calm, it makes him tired, his movement’s become sluggish, and he falls silent, staring at his older brother in front of him, Ak’s crying, there’s tears in his eyes, a voice whispers in his ear, it echoes, it’s the only thing he can hear now. “It’s alright, my little one, just let go, it’s alright.” He feels himself fall limp, pressing back into someone’s chest behind him, an arm still around his waist, and that hand still curled around his forehead. “It’s alright, Isa, you’re alright, just relax, go to sleep, my little one, just let go, you’re going to be alright.”</p><p>
  <em>Daddy?</em>
</p><p>“Everything’s going to be alright, my child, just let go, let me take care of you now, you just rest.”</p><p>Darkness bubbles around him until it consumes everything.</p><p>And the world just disappears.</p>
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<a name="section0039"><h2>39. I'll Be There</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He skids on a patch of ice, losing his balance, and waves his arms as he crashes down on his back, his head smacking down on the icy stone under him, he pushes himself up with a grimace, rubbing at the back of his head, pretending he doesn’t feel the warm liquid brushing against his fingertips. The sound of crunching snow alerts him that his pursuers are closing in, he pushes himself forward, his bare feet sliding under him as he pushes himself forward, his vision is blurry, undoubtedly from the knock he took to the head, and he chances a glance over his shoulder, screaming at the distance slowly closing between him and the others, darting forward into the tree line of the park he’d run to, hoping to lose them inside.</p><p>Screaming again, he ducks, as bullets whiz passed him, bark on trees around him explode into shards as the bullets make contact.</p><p>He wasn’t going to be caught, he wasn’t going to be anyone’s property, not ever again, not even a fat old man’s who said he just wanted a new boy to play with. <em>Especially </em>that. <em>Especially. </em></p><p>He tries to jump over the trunk of a fallen tree, but his foot catches on a raised branch, and he falls face first into the snow. He ignores it though, the pain his hands, the agony in his bare feet, the burning of his chest, he ignores it all. <em>Dad! </em>He pushes himself forward, throwing himself back to his feet, darting off again, as the sound of boots thump behind him, they made the jump, he didn’t but they did. <em>Uncle Micha! </em>He slides under another trunk, caught on two boulders, and thrusts himself forward, his feet sliding on the snow under him. <em>Uncle Luci! </em>He screams when he feels it, a bullet piercing his shoulder, and stumbles slightly, gritting his teeth as he pushes himself on, he’s numb now, he can’t feel the cold of the deep winter around him. <em>Uncle Gabe! </em>He sees a clearing coming his way in the distance, and he stumbles forward, nearly tripping over a raised tree root. He breaks through the tree line, running as fast as his feet will carry him through it, for the tree line on the other side, he’s not losing them, they’re right behind him, he can hear them, and he screams again, as agony flares up his leg, the snow under him becoming red, slick with blood, they shot him in the <em>leg</em>, they’re going to immobilize him. <em>Please! </em>Pain rips through his other leg, his calf, then his thigh, and he finally goes down, his legs giving out from under him, the pain is near unbearable, it blinds him for a moment, as he tumbles to the ground, his face smacking the frozen ground him under, he feels his nose break, and he scrabbles, trying to push himself back up, he <em>can’t </em>let them catch him, he <em>can’t</em>, he’s <em>never</em> going to be <em>owned</em> by another man ever again. <em>Especially</em> a perverted man.</p><p>But his legs can’t hold him, and he cries out when the pain radiates up his legs in waves. <em>I need you! </em>The boots are getting closer, he can hear their panting, the clunking of their guns.</p><p>“There you are kid, look what you made us do, Timothy ain’t going to be pleased that his mocha boy ain’t pretty anymore.” The one pants out, and he cries out when fingers curl into his curls and lifts his head up, pulling him around on his back. Robert, his <em>trainer</em>, the cause of so much pain and terror, he imagines what it looks like, his Uncle jamming his flaming sword through him, Uncle Luci’s trident impaling him, his dad shooting him in the back with one of his arrows, the way his body would convulse. “We heard you prayin’, boy, God ain’t care about a bitch like you. We’re doing him a favor.”</p><p>He spits a glob of blood at him, and get’s pistol whipped in return, and he tumbles over from the impact, trying to crawl forward, and wheezes when a heavy boot stomps between his shoulders, forcing him back onto his belly. <em>Please, please, please!</em></p><p>“Oh, my <em>god, </em>Rob, what the hell is <em>that!”</em></p><p>The boots still pressed between his shoulders, heavy, restrictive, it makes it hard to breathe, which is fine, he’s already struggling in that department. He hears a <em>woosh</em>, a wind picks up in front of him, and he looks up, to see a pair of dark boots thumping down on the frozen grass, massive egg shell white wings flare widely, protectively, threateningly, he’s never been so happy in his <em>entire </em>life, when he sees the tip of a flaming sword. He reaches out, straining under his confinement, reaching for them, reaching for <em>him, </em>he whines softly, the wound in his shoulder flaring sharply, reaching out desperately, smiling slightly, when his fingers curling around the straps on those boots, and he tugs, he pulls as hard as he can, as much as his straining muscles will allow.</p><p>“If you value your <em>life</em>, you will remove your foot from my <em>nephew’s </em>back.”</p><p>Oh, God, he <em>loves </em>that voice, that deep voice that can be full of so much humor and love, and then turn, full of threat and the promise of vengeance.</p><p>“H—Hey man,” Robert’s voice shakes, his boot pressing harder, is he really going to <em>stand up </em>to Uncle Micha. “He belongs to us, we mean no harm, we’re just taking what’s ours.”</p><p>“My nephew belongs to <em>no </em>man.” The sword moves from his line of sight, and he hears Robert gulp lightly, the cocking of guns echoing around the clearing. “I will only tell you once more, <em>only</em> once, release my nephew, or face my wrath.”</p><p>He hears the pops as guns fire.</p><p>Robert sounds frightened now. “What…<em>What </em>the hell <em>are </em>you!”</p><p>“I am the Archangel Michael, the strongest being in all of Creation, under only God Himself, and you <em>dare</em> to harm <em>my </em>nephew.” He feels him shift, a <em>swoosh </em>over his head, warmth over his back, and a thump. Robert <em>screams</em>, agonizing screams, and the weight on his back is gone, he looks over, to see what the thump was, and makes a face, <em>Robert’s leg, </em>Uncle Micha had cut off his <em>leg</em>. <em>That’s so gross.</em></p><p>He looks forward again, tugging himself forward, closer to his Uncle, a large hand enters his line of sight, and he reaches out for it, large warm fingers curl around his hand, and he yelps, as he’s lifted from the ground, perched on his Uncle’s hip, his arm curled under him, to keep him from falling from his perch. He’s so <em>warm</em>, and he presses in closer, something soft and warm curls around him, wings, Uncle Micha’s wings. He rests his head on his Uncle’s shoulder, he feels him lean against his head, before straightening again. “Are you alright, Isa?”</p><p>The Nephilim nods slightly. “I am now, Uncle Micha.”</p><p>The others chasing after him drop their guns, seeming to have had an epiphany, and turn, making to escape the creature, <em>Archangel</em>, standing before them with his flaming sword, holding their runaway on his hip.</p><p>Their escape is blocked, another one lands with a thump of boots, he recognizes him, blonde messy hair, massive rose-gold wings flaring widely, as he straightens, his trident in hand, ice blue eyes stare at them all. He’s known his Uncle Luci for a long, <em>long </em>time, and never before, not even in his <em>worst</em> moments, has he seen his Uncle look as <em>terrifying </em>as he does right in this very moment. “Where you goin’, fellas, I don’t think my brother <em>dismissed</em> you yet.” He steps forward, closing the distance between them, and they, intelligently, scramble backwards. “I heard my nephew calling, and thought to myself, hmmm, he doesn’t usually call for <em>me</em>, perhaps I should investigate.” Ice blue eyes turn to him, and he smiles, his Uncle returns his smile. “Where you been, kid?”</p><p>“Man, Uncle Luci,” Isa rubs his face with a hand. “It’s a long fucking story.” He looks between the men standing between them. “Bunch’a perverts though, for reals, every single one of them.” He spits at Robert. “Gross fuckers.”</p><p>The Nephilim looks around when two more land, golden wings flare to the right, Uncle Gabe. The Messenger scowls at the group of men, eyes flitting to his nephew, as though to make sure he was okay, before taking action, and when he sees him safely tucked in Michael’s side, he returns his blazing gold eyes to the ones who had harmed one of <em>his </em>family. He looks to the other side when the fourth lands, bent at the knee slightly, six emerald wings spreading wide, and he smiles, turning in his Uncles grasp, reaching out for the other. “Dad.”</p><p>“Isa,” his father breathes out his name, stepping closer, and he turns completely, curling his arms around his neck, when he’s lifted out of his Uncle’s grip and into his dad’s. “Isa, I was so worried when you stopped responding.” He hugs himself close to him, as close as he can possibly get, he’s so <em>warm</em>. A large hand presses to the back of his head and he tightens his grip. “I’ve got you, my child, I’ve got you.”</p><p>“It’s Judgement Day.” Uncle Gabe’s voice echoes around the clearing. “And, your names have been called.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0040"><h2>40. The Hate U Give</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So, I was going to wait to post this with my other chapters in my dump this weekend, but thought that Bad Ass papa bear Raphael deserved his own posting glory.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Their conversation falls silent when the door flies open, a young person steps in, and the door slams shut, they go ignored as they stalk through the living room, passed the kitchen, down the hall, and a door slams closed.</p><p>They look back over when the door opens again, the twins, Austin, and Adam stepping in silently, dropping their back packs next to the door. Something was hanging in the air around their forced silence, something heavy, it made the air around them thick, they could feel it.</p><p>“Adam,” the blonde looks up at the soft call of his father, Lucifer gestures him over, and he makes his way to his side, settling in under his arm. “What’s wrong with everyone?”</p><p>Austin plopped down next to his father, Danny next to Uncle Raph, and Jack next to the Messenger.</p><p>Adam sighs. “There’s this new kid at school, Joseph, he umm…..He said some things about Isa and his mom at lunch.” He leans over slightly, reaching into his back pocket for his phone, his cousins pull theirs out, showing their family the video, and the Archangels lean in close to see, volume turned up high, the video is shaky, but the insults are clear, derogatory insults, based solely on skin color. Insults thrown at their young family member, insults about his father, and Isa sits there, eating his lunch stiffly, taking it all in, letting it soak into his skin, used to this kind of treatment, it’s when the insults turn to his mom, when the threats start, <em>lynch the dirty monkey</em>, that the boy finally snaps, they watch him set his spoon down, calmly stand from his seat, curl his fingers around the edge of his lunch tray, lifting it from the table, he turns it around, reels his arms around, and smack the aggressor across the side of the head with it, a loud crack echoes through the speakers, and the other boy tumbles out of his chair. The Nephilim jumps up on the table, jumping over, tackling the boy as he starts to rise, and his fist collides with his face, over and over again, blood smearing from a broken nose, his lip splitting open, a cheek bone starts to bruise from the break. Jack and Adam appear in the video, grabbing their cousin by the arms, tugging him off the unconscious boy below him, and he rages, fighting against their grip, twisting around and kicking, yelling at them to let him go. The video changes direction, shaky, as who ever filmed stumbles away, and then it returns up to the action, just in time to see the school office tackle the enraged boy, sweeping him off his feet completely, and they land with a loud thud, the breath wheezes from the boy, as he’s forced around roughly, they can hear the other children yelling at him, as he cuffs the boy, yanking him to his feet, they watch him get dragged off roughly, the other boy being treated with a gentleness they had not offered their own, helping him to his feet, escorting him gently out of range from the video the camera pans up to the two cousins, Adam and Jack quickly grabbing their backpacks, their cousins backpack, turning to dart after their him, Austin appears at of the corner of the video, darting after them, and the video shakes as the one behind the camera grabs their own backpack, jumping over a chair, to chase after the other boys, running through halls, all they see is feet, then a door is thrown open, yelling reverberates around the office they stand in, <em>don’t condone violence in this school, Isaiah, suspended one month, one more incident, one more, just one, and you’re expelled, and we will be calling your father about this, this kind of behavior is unacceptable, </em>they hear the sound of shuffling, cuffs being removed, and the door to the principle’s office is torn open, Isa stalking out, fists clenched tightly at his sides, a dark light shining in his eyes, shoving passed his cousins as he stalks out of the office, school isn’t over yet, the boys still have classes to attend, but they watch them follow after their silent enraged cousin, down the hall to the doors, Isa slams them open, and when their outside, away from the prying eyes of the prejudice school officials, he starts cursing, cursing up a storm, every other word is a curse, he switches to his native language a few words in, someone whispers just behind the camera, and the cameraman whispers back. They turn, when the doors slam open again, Adam jogging towards them, <em>what happened to Joseph, </em>the blonde shakes his head, <em>this is bullshit, only a week of probation, a verbal warning, complete and utter bullshit, he was provoking him, I told them and they said ‘well boys will be boys’ like it’s completely fine to be a racist shithead, but defending yourself is untolerated, </em>someone curses behind the camera, and it pans around, watching as sparks dance around the Storm Bringers son’s clenched fists, and then his just disappears. The camera turns around, they can see Danny looking over to his cousins, <em>you think Uncle Raph will be mad at him, </em>Austin shakes his head, <em>nah, if Isa tells him what happened, Uncle Raph will be mad at the school though, especially the officer and principle, Joseph, and his family, but not mad at Isa, he knows how it feels too, he’s been there, </em>Adam shakes his head, <em>if he is though, he’ll have to deal with us, it wasn’t Isa’s fault, </em>the others nod firmly, <em>agreed, </em>Jack steps forward, <em>come on, I’m skipping, you can go back if you want, but I’m not, not to those racist assholes, did you see the way he got tackled by that officer, I don’t know about you, but I heard something crack when he landed, that was unnecessary, excessive force at it’s finest, I’m going home, or I know I’ll fight someone, punch them in their racist faces, </em>the others give their own agreements, following after him, the video pans around, to their feet, and cuts off into darkness.</p><p>“Unbelievable.” Gabriel breathes. “It’s twenty-twenty one, and these assholes still exist, they need to get over themselves.”</p><p>Michael hums in agreement. “Agreed, brother, the boy took it in calmly longer then I would have, that’s for sure. The nerve of them all, to punish the victim more severely than the aggressor.”</p><p>“It is how it is.” Raphael intones softly, looking down at his hands, he doesn’t see them look over at him. “But, not as it should be. He’s used to it, that’s how he took it so calmly for as long as he had, he’s been called worse, he’s come as close to being lynched as one could get. He’s simply used to being treated like he’s less than human, because of the color of his skin, he shouldn’t be, but he is.” He shakes his head. “I tolerate humanity, because Father commanded us to, but for what they’ve done to my son, I will never <em>like</em> them, never see them more then the bugs crawling under our feet.” The Healer looks up to his nephews for a moment. “Except for your mothers of course, they are all queens, I have the upmost respect for them.” He returns their smiles when they smile at him.</p><p>They all look up when a door opens down the hall, the only one not with them stalking down the hall slowly, and the Healer rises immediately when he sees his bow clutched his son’s hand. “Isa, no,” He stops the boy midstep, blocking his way, and the others watch silently as the son slowly lifts his head, his eyes shining, though from tears or the power raging just under his skin, they can’t decipher at the present moment. The Healer caresses his cheek, reaching his bow with his other hand, gently pulling it from the boy’s grasp. “You’re better then that, my child, no.” He curls his fingers around the back of the boy’s neck, and guides him around, back down the hall he’d appeared from, and a door closes softly a moment later.</p><p>In the privacy of his dad’s room, Isa just falls into his chest, fingers curled in the back of his shirt as tightly as he can muster, sobbing deeply, and he just curls the boy in his arms, cradling the back of his head with his hand, because, what was he supposed to say.</p><p>…</p><p>Isa was slumped in the chair outside the office, shoulders hunched, glaring heatedly at the floor. Blood dripping lightly from his nose, it tickled his chin and he swiped at it stiffly with the back of his right hand, they’d called and told on him, and he hadn’t even <em>started </em>it. But he was being treated like the aggressor, the instigator, typical, he hated this school, he wished his dad would find him a new one, but at the same time, he liked being at the same school as his cousins were and didn’t want to leave them.</p><p>Joseph sitting across from him, they’d been separated, still <em>whining</em> about <em>his</em> sore eye and his headache.</p><p>The bruise was morbidly pleasing to stare at when he looked up to his new bully.</p><p>Of course, they’d only get the parents involved not that their precious little <em>Joseph</em> had been struck back. It was fine when he was the one dishing it out, but for him to be on the <em>receiving</em> end, <em>that</em> was apparently when it became <em>unacceptable</em>.</p><p>Because his parents had money and it was assumed his did not.</p><p>If only they really knew who they were dealing with.</p><p>Down the hall, the doors open, he knew who it was immediately, he knew the feeling, the presence, the grace washing over the hall.</p><p>Joseph peered up, assuming it was some sort of poor foster parent, because who else would want a dirty monkey, and frowned at the well dressed man walking down the hall towards them, and he shivered slightly, from the intensity of the glare directed at him, he could <em>swear </em>the man’s eyes were <em>glowing</em>.</p><p>He watched as the man stopped, giving him a quick glance over, and turned to the other boy completely. The monkey mumbled something to the tall man, under his breath, he couldn’t hear what he said, but the man did, and gave a curt nod, resting a hand on his shoulder.</p><p>The door to the Principle’s office opened and he invited them in. “Thank you, for coming, Mr. Mostafa.”</p><p>“Doctor.” The man’s voice was deep, harsh, and Joseph shivered slightly at the sound of it. “It’s <em>Doctor </em>Raphael Mostafa.”</p><p>Morita blushed amber. “My apologies, <em>Doctor </em>Mostafa, would you and the boys please join us, Joseph’s parents arrived a few minutes ago.”</p><p>Raphael nods, the fingers of his left-hand curling around Isa’s shoulder as both man and boy stepped into the principles office, the other child following after them. They sat side by side, Raphael on Isa’s right, and Joseph between his parents.</p><p>“I want this boy <em>expelled</em>!” Mr. Edwin shouted immediately upon the door being closed behind Morita, and him taking his seat behind his desk, turning to glare at the other boy with something akin to disgust. “This <em>monkey </em>attacked my son unprovoked!”</p><p>He feels a rage bubble inside of him at someone referring to his son as a <em>‘monkey’</em>.</p><p>“Oh, <em>please</em>!”</p><p>Isa fell silent at the squeeze to his thigh, and the deep hum that came from his father at his side, he shook his head when he turned to look up at him. “I dare say, that seems a bit much.”</p><p>Mrs. Edwin simpered. “You would, probably just as <em>barbaric</em> as your delinquent, we could press charges for assault!”</p><p>Morita looked to be at a loss for words when the three parents turned to glare at each other and raised his hands in an attempt to gain control back. “Please, please, can we all settle down, now. Let’s allow the boy’s to explain themselves.”</p><p>Joseph cut in before Isa could get a word out. “I was just minding my own business, Mr. Morita! I haven’t spoken to Mostafa in weeks and he just came at me all heated and attacked me! He was being all crazy! I was scared he’d kill me!”</p><p>Raphael shot the boy at his side a stern glance when he heard him snort in anger, Isa ducked under the gaze and fell silent again, glaring under his fringe of curls at his school mate.</p><p>Morita nodded at the boy’s story; Mr. Edwin jumped in before he could get a word in. “See! This monkey is a threat! He shouldn’t be allowed to remain here, where he may harm another student, no matter the charity it may be to allow his admittance here!”</p><p>“Isa, what happened?”</p><p>“Why are you asking <em>him</em>!” Joseph’s mom sniffed at the other teenager with disdain, as if he were something <em>lesser</em>, Raphael had to remind himself that sending people down to his older brother with an untimely end, was, in fact, against the rules. “Surely the evidence points to the truth! He would surely <em>lie </em>to keep himself from trouble! He wouldn’t want to be banned from a school meant for the <em>superior</em>.”</p><p>Morita silenced her with a placating hand, though his backbone was completely nonexistent, and nodded for the other boy to continue.</p><p>Isa looked up at his dad, waiting for his nod of approval, and turned back to the principle. “I was at my locker, with my cousin, Adam, getting my lunch, when Joseph started making fun of me. Which is fine,” Raphael frowned lightly. “I can deal with that, but then he started talking about my mom, he said that she was black-faced monkey whore, and other mean words, that I will <em>not </em>repeat. So, I punched him.”</p><p>“Ha! He <em>admits</em> it! <em>Attacking</em> my boy!”</p><p>“<em>Liar</em>! My Joseph is a kind, respectful boy!”</p><p>He could see that his lightning child was about to lose his temper again, before it snapped. “Your kid is a asshole! A <em>racist </em>asshole! <em>Just</em> like his parents! He’s either going to grow up to be a failure because he doesn’t know how the real world is or he’s going to get <em>shot </em>and <em>killed </em>for insulting the wrong individual, and personally, just in my <em>personal opinion, </em>I happen to hope it’s the latter! He has no one, no friends, he has <em>followers</em>! He <em>deserved </em>what he got!”</p><p>“Isa.” The affect that tone had on the angered teenager was immediate, he didn’t have to so much as raise his voice, it remained at the same slightly stern, slightly fond, deep baritone that it usually did, and it was enough to bring his rant to a complete halt. “That’s enough.”</p><p>Mr. and Mrs. Edwin were back to their argument about how much of a threat he was, and the principle looked as though he was moments away from conceding to their demands for expulsion.</p><p>Raphael raised his own hand. “If I may?” They all turned to look at him. “It seems prudent, in my opinion, to point out that your boy is fine, a bloody nose and a bruised eye, the bleeding will stop once he stops poking at it, and the bruises will fade within a day.” He nods to his son. “While <em>my </em>boy as a split lip, a crack in his temple, and blood dripping from his nostril.” Isa stared at him as he leveled a steady glare on the Edwin’s for a brief moment and then turned to glare at Morita. “This would not be the first time my boy has come home injured from this establishment, and it is concerning to me that this has been a reoccurring issue that no one seems to take notice of, I understand that this child’s parents have more then enough funds to pay for his tuition here. However, I do believe it would be in this school’s <em>best interest </em>to take better care of <em>all </em>of it’s students, despite supposed financial means, rather then it would be to continue to ignore it.”</p><p>Isa stares at his dad as he turns to address to Edwins. “And, just so you are aware, your son <em>is </em>a racist and a bigot. Referring to an African American child as a <em>‘monkey’ </em>and all the other horribly derogatory names my son has come to me about, it is appalling, though the blame cannot be placed solely on his shoulders, I suppose. Racism is a <em>taught </em>ideology and behavior, seeing as to how you present yourself to be of <em>superior </em>status then me and my son, supposedly based on supposed financial standing is a weak argument, at best, you treat people this way because of how they <em>look, </em>and you are lying to yourself if you try to convince yourself otherwise.” Raphael nods slightly. “And, as for pressing charges,” he turns his attention back to the principle. “It would be well within our right to file Color Discrimination charges against this establishment, my son has been repeatedly punished much more severely than his aggressor has been. We could also file a suit against this establishment and the resource officer, who has been known to bodily injure my <em>son</em> when attempting to restrain him, when <em>defending</em> himself and his loved ones, this resource officer, who, might I add, <em>broke</em> my son’s arm, not once, but <em>twice.</em>” He turns his attention to the family next to him. “As for you, we would be well within our rights to file Ethnic Intimidation charges against all of you, <em>especially</em> your son, along with Assault charges, for threatening to <em>lynch </em>my son.”</p><p>He returns his attention to the principle. “I am taking Isa with me. He will serve your <em>ridiculous </em>suspension. And, when he returns, he will receive an <em>apology</em> from this boy for the <em>foul</em> treatment he’s been receiving for the past <em>year. </em>Or, you will find, that our lawyer <em>far </em>surpasses yours.” A large hand settles over his soft dark curls. “Isa, get your bag.”</p><p>…</p><p>“Dahahahahhahaad! Eeeieieiiiaiaiaiaiaiaaahahahhahahaa ahahahhahahahahhahahaa! Stohohohohhop! Stohohoohhhoohoohop! Aaahahahahahhhahahahhaa thihihihis ihihihihisn’t fahahahhahahaair!” Isa shrieks with laughter, hanging upside down, over the edge of his dad’s bed, cackling brightly, batting and pushing at the large warm hands clawing into his bare belly, his shirt having ridden up from his precarious position, and the tingly grace kneading into his thighs, he’d be kicking right now, if his dad’s heavy body wasn’t laying over his legs, keeping him in place. “Thihihihihis ihihihihisn’t fahahahahaair! Nohohohohot myhyhyhyhy wohohohohorst spoohhohohohots ahahahahhaat thehehehehe sahahahhaame tihihihiihime! Aaahahahhahahahahhahahaa eieieieiiaiaaaiaaahahahahahhahahahaha dahahahahhahaad! Yohohohohour’re behehehheeing sohhohohoho mehehehhean toohohohoho mehehehehee!”</p><p>He hears his dad’s soft deep laughter over his own loud high-pitched laughter. “We’ve got to work that anger out of you. Why, you caused a blackout on the east coast, and that wasn’t very nice.” He squeals when a finger dips into his belly button tortuously. “So, a few more minutes, we’ll get your mood brightened again, no worries, I know just the way.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0041"><h2>41. Hold Your Breath</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>His chest burns, it burns so bad, he needs to breathe, he needs air, and he flails his arms, trying to swim to the surface of the water, but the cinder block chained around his ankle keeps pulling him down, further and further, away from surface, away from sweet precious air. The light’s growing dimmer, he blinks, straining behind the desire to open his mouth and inhale.</p><p>He’s going to drown either way, he can’t get the chain off from around his ankle, no matter how much he tries, sitting on the sea floor, and when he gives up, he turns around, letting himself lay on his back, he wants to see the sky, he wants that to be the last thing he sees, and then he opens his mouth, inhaling deeply.</p><p>Water rushes in.</p><p>Blinking, he sees something drawing nearer and nearer, it’s a body, a person, and they crash through the surface, kicking their legs, they dive down towards him, and he reaches out weakly. His fingers curl in the front of their shirt, they reach for the chain connecting him to the cinder block, and tear it free, arms curl around his chest, and they kick them up, ascending to the surface, and he chokes, coughing up water when they break through, his lungs begging for air.</p><p>“Isa! Isa, are you okay!” The voice comes from behind him, he knows that voice, and he turns his head to see him. “Zaves?”</p><p>His friend nods, smiling at him slightly, holding him closer as a wave breaks over their heads. “I saw you get pushed off.”</p><p>“I wanna go home.”</p><p>“I’d be happy to take us home.” They both duck and clench their eyes shut when another wave breaks over them. “But I think I broke my wing fighting off the horde that pushed you off.”</p><p>Isa chokes as water rushes into his mouth as another wave crashes over them. “Then, how do we get home?”</p><p>“Oren will come looking for me if I don’t return in another fifteen minutes.”</p><p>He turns slightly. “Zaves, that could take forever for him to find us!”</p><p>“Nah,” Zaveriel shakes his head. “When I was made a Virtue, the others gave me a pendant, with a small piece of their grace in it, so if we ever got separated, they’d be able to find me, and I gave them a small piece of mine too.” He spits out a mouthful of water and adjusts his grip on his friend. “Oren can track me through my grace.”</p><p>The Nephilim nods. “My dad is going to be so smothering when we get back.”</p><p>“Hey, you’ve never had to deal with mama bear Oren before.”</p><p>“I’m pretty sure Oren learned from dad, so, I think we’re pretty evenly matched.”</p><p>The youngest Virtue nods lightly. “I think so.”</p><p>They wait the fifteen minutes, bobbing in the water, choking and coughing as waves break over their heads, when they spot him, dropping down in their direction, and they wave their arms, hands above their heads, to get his attention.</p><p>Oren nods, grabbing both of their hands, and kicks off the water, rocketing them back up with a massive swoop of his wings. They both curl the fingers of their other hands in his pant legs, to keep them steady, as he lifts them higher and higher. Isa looks up when he feels his hand start to slip in the older Virtue’s grip, he reaches up with his other hand, trying to curl his fingers around Oren’s wrist, when his hand slips free, and he falls back, screaming as he free falls back towards the hungry waves, tumbling through the air, he flips himself over, watching the water approaching quickly.</p><p>He huffs, when an arm catches him around the waist, stopping his descent in one foul swoop. He curls his fingers around that arm, and looks up, Oren smiles down at him. “I’ve got you, baby brother.”</p><p>“Thanks, big brother,” he smiles up at him. “You’re a life saver.” He snorts softly. “Pun intended.”</p><p>The older angel barks a laugh, shaking his head, as he swoops them back up, returning to their ascent. Isa looks up, watching as they break through the barrier, watching as they pass over buildings, others looking up to watch them streak across the sky, making their way to their home. He sees his dad waiting there, watching them approach, and he smiles, he wants his dad.</p><p>Zaveriel lets go of his older brother’s hand, falling into the Healer’s arms, so the older Virtue can land. Raphael sets him on his feet, his hand resting on his head, as Oren touches down, tucking his wings away, setting Isa on his feet. The Nephilim jumps forward, into the Archangel’s arms, holding onto him tightly.</p><p>“Come, my little one, you’re soaked and shivering.” He turns them around, guiding them inside, Isa tucked into his side. “Let’s get you changed into something dry and under some nice thick blankets.”</p><p>“Okay, dad.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0042"><h2>42. Save Me</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>How did these things keep happening, was his luck just really that bad, is this some kind of cosmic joke some asshole is getting their kicks from. <em>Guys! </em>His sneakers pound against the pavement as he runs for his life, his hands cuffed behind his back, his current keepers right behind him. <em>Anyone! </em>He skids to a stop, looking between the two directions, two choices, he’s got to pick soon, they’re closing in, he can hear them shouting at him, and he inhales, turning to the right, up a path towards the forest. Jumping over tree trunks, using boulders as leverage to get over the particularly high ones sliding under particularly low ones. <em>I could use an assist!</em></p><p>He’s not being shipped off somewhere to become someone’s new boy toy, no thank you, he’s not interested.</p><p>Out of breath, he slows to a stop in the middle of a field, bending over slightly as he pants, hearing them laughing as they draw nearer. They stop a pace away, one of them laughs, promising to go easy on him if he comes back peacefully, and despite his panting, he growls, launching himself forward, he’ll go down fighting, he’s no ones <em>bitch</em>. Kicking him in the stomach, he uses his opportunity as he bends forward, wheezing, to use his knee as leverages, sliding up on his shoulders, he curls his legs around his neck, and tugs back, pulling him back off his feet, they both collide with the ground with a solid thump, and he uses his power to spring himself back up. Jumping up, he pulls his arms around to his front, still cuffed together, he curls his fingers together, swings his arms around, and punches the oncoming man across the face.</p><p>“Come on! Any day would be nice! Is this thing on!”</p><p>Kicking himself up, he flips, catching the man in the jaw with his foot, blood spews from his mouth and a crack echoes in his ears, flipping over backwards, he lands in a crouch, panting lightly.</p><p>“Do I have to freaking <em>pray </em>for you people to get your <em>asses </em>down here!”</p><p>Rising, he ducks when a punch is thrown at him, yelping as he’s snatched up from behind, he looks down, those are unfamiliar arms, and throws his head back, ramming it into their face. There’s another crack and a yell, cursing, and he’s dropped, ducking under another swinging fist<em>. “Saint Michael the Archangel, defend us in battle. Be our protection against wickedness and snares of the devil</em> (sorry Uncle Luci),” he head butts the one trying to charge in, throwing him back again, groaning at the ache in his head from it. <em>“May God rebuke him, we humbly pray, and do thou,”</em> he ducks under another punch to the head, he feels the brush of it over his curls, kneeing him in the crotch, he stumbles back. <em>“O Prince of the Heavenly Host, by the power of God,”</em> he bends his knees slightly, hopping up, he turns midair, kicking him in the head. <em>“Thrust into hell Satan and all evil spirits who wander through the world for the ruin of souls. Amen.”</em></p><p>He groans, either from the fact that no one is answering his calls, or the punch to the face, maybe even both, he’s not sure right now.</p><p>“Come on, people! Are you listening! Are your receivers turned on! Clean out your ears!”</p><p>He finally manages to knock out one of them, seriously, are these people made of steel or something, and immediately ducks under another punch, feeling warm blood trickle down from his nose. <em>“Blessed Saint Raphael, Archangel, We beseech thee to help us,” </em>he kicks his current attacker in the stomach, using his knee as his leverage, climbing up on his shoulders, he curls his legs around his neck, his cuffed hands under his chin, and squeezes as much as he can. <em>“In all our needs and trials of life, as thou, through the power of God,” </em>leaning back, he pulls them backwards, sweeping the man off his feet, and they crash to the ground, he kickflips back to his feet, and stomps on the man’s neck, sorry not sorry. <em>“Didst restore sight and give guidance to young Tobit. We humbly seek thine aid,” </em>he yelps as he’s tackled, thrust back onto his back, and wheezes slightly, curling his legs tightly around this man’s chest, he uses what strength he has left to roll them over, pressing his bound hands to their neck as hard as he can. <em>“And intercession, that our souls may be healed, our bodies protected from all ills, and that through divine grace,” </em>he jumps up, when the man falls limp, rising to the occasion of the others coming at him, shouting and cursing, he steps forward, away from the unconscious man, bending at the knee slightly, he springs up, catching one in the face with his foot, there’s a loud snap, and their swept off their feet, two down, three to go. <em>“We may be made fit to dwell in the eternal Glory of God in heaven.”</em></p><p>Still, nothing. “Oh, <em>come on! </em>Are you guys ignoring me! Is this about what happened last week! Get <em>over </em>it!”</p><p>He ducks under a swinging arm. “Sayin your prayers, boy?” And another. “Prayin we’ll go easy on ya?”</p><p>He snorts. “Dude, I’m kicking <em>your</em> asses.” He catches this one in his hands, uses the momentum from the swing, and uses it to propel the man over his head as he throws him back, turning to look down at him. “But, sure, something like that.”</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>“Duck.” </em>
  </strong>
</p><p>He knows that voice, he knows <em>not</em> to disobey that voice, so he ducks, looking up, he smiles as he sees a wooden staff swing over his head, cracking loudly against the side of the head of the one coming up behind him. “Hey, dad, how’s it shakin?”</p><p>Raphael rolls his eyes, smiling down at him as he reaches out to ruffle the boy’s curls. “Honestly, Isa, how do you keep getting into these messes?”</p><p>The Nephilim hops up, leaning forward to press a kiss to the Archangel’s cheek, he chuckles softly, patting him on the cheek. “Dad, if I knew, I’d know how to keep them from happening all the time.”</p><p>“What was it this time?”</p><p>“Human trafficking ring.”</p><p>The Archangel hums, he sounds amused, <em>asshole</em>. “Did you really have to summon me, though?”</p><p>“Hey, no one was responding!” He throws his bound hands up. “It was the first thing that came to mind!”</p><p>The Nephilim teenager turns at the sound of a loud thump, a body hitting the ground harshly, and he grins. “Did that guy just try to <em>punch </em>Uncle Micha?”</p><p>His dad hums at his side, leaning forward on his staff, Michael looked like he was enjoying himself, who were they to interfere with his fun. “It appears so.” Isa ducks under his arm, back rubbing against his chest, and curls his hands around the Archangel’s staff to lean on it too, smiling when he feels him kiss him on the back of the head. “Not the best of choices.”</p><p>He makes a face when Michael catches one of them by the front of their shirt, and lifts him off their feet, throwing them down to the ground under them. “Oof, that guys not gonna have a nice weekend.” His dad chuckles softly behind him. “I’m just sayin, that’s gonna leave a mark.” He turns around, smiling up at his dad lightly, raising his cuffed arms to curl them around the back of the Archangel’s neck. “Oh, and I may have accidently killed a guy.”</p><p>“How?”</p><p>“I stomped on his throat.”</p><p>His dad sighs softly. “Isa.”</p><p>“What, they were coming at me, if anything, it was in self-defense.”</p><p>Raphael smiles slightly, shaking his head. “If you say so.”</p><p>The Nephilim blinks up at him. “So, am I going to be in trouble?”</p><p>“Well, seeing as to what was happening when I got here, I don’t think you’ve done anything wrong.”</p><p>Isa smiles. “Aw, dad, you’re the best.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0043"><h2>43. Family Dinner</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“I expect you to be on your best behavior, I know you have no liking of them, but they are here as your Grandfather’s guests, do you understand me?”</p><p>Isa nods at his dad silently, the Archangel standing just before him, looking down at him sternly. “Yes, dad, I understand.”</p><p>Raphael nods firmly. “Good. Go stand with your cousins and wait to be called in.” The boy nods, darting off, and he stands there for a moment, watching him join his cousins with narrows eyes, trying to shake the feeling that something was going on right under their noses.</p><p>…</p><p>“So, did you manage to get it?” Adam looks over at his cousins approach, watching from over his shoulder as his Uncle enters the dining hall, nodding to alert him it was safe. “Isa, did you get it?”</p><p>The Healer’s son smiles, pulling a vile out of his pocket. “I got it.”</p><p>“Good,” Austin rubs his hands together. “Who’s all in attendance tonight?”</p><p>Jack looks away from his twin, silencing the conversation they’d been having in Norse, and nods lightly. “Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Mary Winchester, and Castiel.”</p><p>Adam snorts softly. “And, my traitorous brother, Jack Kline.”</p><p>Danny steps up with his twin. “Everyone know the plan?” They all nod silently. “Everyone know what to do if we get caught?”</p><p>Isa smiles. “Cry like our lives depend on it, because they will.”</p><p>“Good.”</p><p>…</p><p>“Isaiah,” the dark toned Nephilim looks up from the staring contest he’d been having with Jack across the table from him at the call of his name, meeting his Grandfather’s eyes, He smiles at the boy lightly. “Will you serve the drinks?”</p><p>Raphael’s son nods mutely, pushing his chair back silently, and rises to his feet. The beverages are at the other end of the table, resting on a cart, and he feels his dad’s eyes on him as he pours the beverages into the glasses, he stalls slightly, putting ice cubes into the goblets one at a time, and waits until he feels the eyes shift off of him before reaching into his pocket, pulling out the small vial, pouring the contents into the goblet with the red rhinestone, drops the vial back in his pocket, and turns around with a smile, the tray of drinks in his hands. He serves Sam Winchester first, sitting on Uncle Luci’s left, then Uncle Luci, Adam, and the traitor Jack Kline. He serves Mary Winchester her goblet, his dad, himself, and Dean Winchester. The he serves Uncle Gabe and the twins. And, lastly, he serves Uncle Micha, Austin, and Grandfather.</p><p>Silently, he returns the tray to the cart, and reclaims his seat, returning to his staring contest with his cousin. He sees the hunter on his other side move, reaching for his goblet, and smiles slightly, bowing his head to hide it.</p><p>His eyes flit up when a dark arm reaches around him, and he turns with wide eyes, when a hand closes over the hunter’s goblet, his dad’s voice rumbling from his other side. “Trust me, don’t drink that.” Isa watches as he pulls the goblet away, and passes him his own, instead. “Have mine.” He returns his gaze to his cousin across from him, Jack shakes his head minutely, more a slight jerk really, and he makes a face of horror, when he sees his dad press the edge of the goblet to his lips and take a sip.</p><p>Jack slams his head down on the table and everyone turns to look at him.</p><p>…</p><p>“Adam,” the blonde Nephilim looks up at the call of his name, breaking the silent conversation he’d been having with Austin, and looks up at his Grandfather. “Will you serve the salads?”</p><p>The Morningstar’s <em>first </em>son nods mutely, pushing his chair back, turning slightly, and rises to his feet. As he passes his cousin, Danny minutely holds out a small bottle to him, and he slips it into his hand, folding his hands together around his front, as he makes his way to the platter at the other end of the table. He turns slightly, peering over his shoulder, to see if anyone is watching, and when he sees no one, he turns back around. Pulling the top off the small bottle, he pours the contents out onto the salad nearest his right hand, slides the empty bottle into his pocket, and turns, smiling slightly.</p><p>He serves Uncle Rapha, Isa, and Dean Winchester first. Then Uncle Gabe and the twins, Sam Winchester, his dad, himself, the traitor, and Castiel. Finishing with the salad for his Grandfather.</p><p>Returning his tray to the other end of the table, he retakes his seat between his dad and the traitor, returning his eyes to those of his cousin across from him. He hears Grandfather say something to one of His friends, but he doesn’t hear what it was, Austin nods slightly, a quick tilt of his head, when his traitorous half brother reaches for his fork.</p><p>Adam goes wide-eyed when he sees a pale arm reach out in front of him. “Trust me, you don’t want to eat that.” He watches him pull the plate away. “Trade with me.” And switch plates with his half-brother. He stares right at his cousin as he sees his dad pick up his fork, hears the fork tear into the lettuce, and lifts the fork to his mouth, taking the bite.</p><p>Austin throws his head back, presses his hands to his face, and groans loudly, drawing everyone’s attention.</p><p>…</p><p>“Jackson, Daniel,” both twins look up at the sound of their name, breaking their staring match with their cousin across from them, turning to look up at their Grandfather, He smiles at them, dipping His chin. “Would the two of you serve the main course?”</p><p>They nod in sync, sliding their chairs back, on either side of Gabriel, and rise to their feet. The main course sits on two small carts, they exchange quick looks, and Danny writes little intricate runes over the plate nearest his left hand, they glow for a brief second and fade, he nods at his twin, and they both lift their trays, turning, sporting the same smiles.</p><p>Jack serves Mary Winchester, Uncle Raph, Isa, Dean Winchester, Uncle Micha, and Austin.</p><p>Danny serves Sam Winchester, his dad, Uncle Luci, Adam, the traitor, Castiel, and Grandfather.</p><p>They return their trays to the end of the table and reclaim their seats, staring ahead at their cousin, Isa’s eyes flit over to the younger hunter, nodding slightly, a quick jerk, when he sees him pick up his fork and knife.</p><p>Danny stares, down at the arm that reaches around him, horror overcoming his features, his eyes flitting back up to his cousins, Isa stares back with wide eyes.</p><p>“Trust me, Samshine, you don’t want to eat that.” Gabriel pulls his plate away, passing him his own, nodding at the hunter when he stares at him questioningly. “Let’s trade.”</p><p>Jack pretends he’s not as terrified as his twin is, when he sees his dad pick up his fork and knife, cut into his steak, and take a bite, he just stares down at his own food, praying to Thor that his dad doesn’t taste anything <em>off. </em></p><p>Isa makes a sound of dramatic distress and falls over to lean against Raphael’s arm limply.</p><p>….</p><p>“Austin,” the Viceroy’s son breaks his stare with his blonde cousin across from him, turning to look up at his Grandfather, He smiles down at the boy, dipping His chin lightly. “Would you serve dessert?”</p><p>“Yes, Grandfather.”</p><p>He nods, pushing his chair back, turning to the side as he rises to his feet, stepping around behind his dad’s chair, he makes his way down the length of the table. Isa holds a small vial out to him discretely, and he catches it, tucking it into his palm.</p><p>The dessert rest on the cart the drinks sat on, and he slowly prepares them, setting them up on a tray. He chances a peek over his shoulder, and when he sees no one watching him, lifts the vial up, pulls the cap, pours it on the dessert in the middle of the tray, tucks the vial back in his pocket, and turns around with a soft smile.</p><p>He serves Sam and Mary Winchester first. Then Uncle Gabe, the twins, Uncle Luci, Adam, the traitor, and Castiel. Crossing over to the other side, he serves Uncle Raph, Isa, Dean Winchester, his dad, himself, and lastly, his Grandfather.</p><p>He returns his tray, and slowly makes his way up the length of the table to reclaim his spot next to his dad, reaching for his spoon, he locks his eyes with Adam’s, across from him, and the blonde turns his head slightly, chancing a glance over to their target, nodding slightly when he picks up his spoon.</p><p>“Castiel,” Austin’s eyes widen when his dad’s deep voice intones from his side, holding out his bowl, the Seraph looks up at the oldest Archangel. “Trust me, you don’t want to eat that, have mine instead.”</p><p>He stares at his cousin when his dad retracts his arm, the other bowl in hand, and as he lifts his spoon, leaning over to take a bite. Something heavy settles in the bottom of his stomach when he hears his dad hum softly.</p><p>Adam inhales deeply, and drops his face into his dessert, drawing all of their attention.</p><p>…</p><p>The four Archangels stand before their contrite children, in the living room of their Villa, arms crossed firmly. “Do you want to tell us why you attempted to poison your Grandfather’s guests?”</p><p>The five Nephilim exchange looks between each other.</p><p>Raphael starts when his son just bursts into a sob, tears streaming down his face, he throws himself forward, and the Healer barely has time to catch him, looking down at the sobbing youth curled around him in surprise. “H—He t—t—took you f—from me—e d—daddy! I-I—I was a—al—all alone! I—I’m s—sorry! I—I j—just wanted h—him to—to s—see wh—what it f—felt l—like t—too!” The boy wails softly, tears soaking the front of his tunic, and he pats the back of his head softly. “P-Please don’t h—h—hate m—me, d—daddy!”</p><p>“Oh, Isa, I could never hate you.” He rubs the boy’s back soothingly, trying to hush his gut wrenching sobs, cooing down at him softly. “I love you with all my heart, I could never hate you, you’re my little one.”</p><p>Adam and Austin burst into sobs themselves, throwing themselves forward, Lucifer barely catches the boy in time, and Michael steps forward to catch his own, both young Nephilim curling around them as tightly as they can manage, sobbing into their chests. “T—They l—l—locked y—you i—in the ca—cage, d—daddy! I—I—It was so—so h—h—horrible! I—I w—was so a—alone! I—I’m s—s—sorry! I—I’m r—really so—sorry! I—I j—just wanted them t—to hurt a—as m—much as they m—made m—m—me h—hurt!”</p><p>“Oh, little snowflake.” Lucifer hums, brushing through his son’s curls, squeezing him tightly. “I know, if you missed me as much as I missed you, it must have been so horrible. But I’m not going anywhere again, I’ll always be here for you, I’m not leaving again.”</p><p>Adam sniffs softly, looking up at him with reddened eyes, breathing in deeply, a small whine escaping him. “P—Promise?”</p><p>The Morningstar nods, stroking a hand down over his slick cheek. “I promise, little one.”</p><p>“Little firefly, it’s alright.” Michael rubs his hand down the back of the boy’s head, holding him close, letting him get his cries out. “I’m sorry you were so alone, I can’t take it back, but I’m here to stay now. I’m not going anywhere.”</p><p>Austin inhales deeply, turning his head, pressing his ear to his dad’s chest. “P—Promise?”</p><p>“I swear.” The Viceroy hums. “Cross my heart.”</p><p>The twins whine softly, looking up at their own dad, and he raises an eyebrow, humming softly. “Are you trying to hold back your tears?”</p><p>They nod quickly, and Gabriel sighs, opening his arms for them. “C’mere kiddos, c’mere.”</p><p>The two of them jump at the Messenger, crying softly into his shoulders, and he curls his arms around them as best he can. “It’s okay, little tricksters, I’m not leaving this time, I swear, I’m here to stay.”</p><p>“S—Swear?” The mumble at the same time.</p><p>He nods lightly. “I swear.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0044"><h2>44. Friends On The Other Side</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Honestly, he hadn’t been paying attention, playing a game on his phone with the twins, only half listening to conversation around him, honestly, he was just here to keep his dad from losing his shit at the lot of them, the twins were here to keep him company, and to cause as much chaos as they can.</p><p>Then, he hears it, something said in passing, and he lowers his phone, turning to look at Sam Winchester with the most serious expression anyone has ever seen come across the Healer’s son’s features. “I can help you with that.” They stare at him, Sam blinks in surprise, looking around at the others, but they focus on him. “No, I’m serious, I can definitely help you with that.”</p><p>The hunter looks back at him. “How can <em>you</em> help us hide a body?”</p><p>Isa hears his dad groan from his other side, and he turns slightly, watching him lean forward, burying his face in his hands, before turning back to the hunter in front of him. “I got people, dude.”</p><p>“You have people who can get rid of a <em>body</em>?”</p><p>“Um,” he nods lightly. “Yea. I can totally do that for you.”</p><p>The twins snort, shaking their heads, they know, all of his cousins know, the twins had people too.</p><p>“This,” Dean Winchester cuts in. “This I gotta see.” He nods in his direction, his tone portraying that he doesn’t believe him, and the Nephilim feels slightly insulted, he’s like his dad, he doesn’t say things he doesn’t mean. “Go for it, short stack.”</p><p>Nodding slightly, he holds up a finger. “Let me make a call.” Isa looks down at his phone, exiting the game he’d been playing, and opens his contacts, surfing through the list, he comes to what he’s looking for, and pushes the contact, pulling the phone up against his ear. “It’s ringin’, hang on.” They watch him, he even feels his dad’s eyes on him, but he ignores them, leaning back in his seat, and they hear a muffled voice on the other end answer. “Hey, Jimbo, how’s it hangin’?” Isa examines his nails. “How’re the kids and the mrs’s?” He lowers his hand, resting it on the armrest of the chair, nodding along to whatever the man on the other side says, they assume it’s a man, he was called ‘<em>Jimbo’</em>. “That’s real great man, send her my congrats, boy or girl?” He smiles slightly. “Aw, dude, that’s awesome, he’s gonna be a little badass just like his daddy is.” They hear laughter on the other end. “Look, Jimbo, I wish this was a social call, we definitely got to get together sometime soon, I miss Angies cookin’, but I got something I need you to do for me.” The tone on the other end grows serious. “Yea, man, I got a stiff one I need to be rid of, can you hook me up?” Isa smiles slightly. “Aw, thanks man, I knew I could count on you.” The person on the other side says something. “Yea, they’re here, I dunno man, let me ask.”</p><p>The twins perk up when he turns to look at them, Gabriel looks between them both with wide eyes, not really understanding what they had to do with this. “Guys, Jimbo and Johnny are comin, you want anything?”</p><p>Jack raises his hand. “Skittles.”</p><p>Danny smirks. “A bitch.” He twin smacks him on the arm harshly. “Skittles, too.”</p><p>Isa nods, turning back around. “Skittles, bring me a slushie, blue raspberry, lemon on top, and a cookie, don’t matter what kind.” The man on the other end replies. “Thanks dude, see you in ten.” The call disconnects, and the Nephilim smirks at the hunter staring at him and sets his phone down on the table next to him. “I got this, and, because you’re Uncle Gabe’s friends, I won’t charge.”</p><p>
  <em>“Charge?”</em>
</p><p>“Um, yea, nothing in life is free, dude.”</p><p>They wait the ten minutes in silence, half expecting this all to be a sham, and half hoping it truly is. There’s a knock on the door above them, and Isa smirks, raising his hand, he snaps his fingers.</p><p>Everyone, but the Nephilim, jump from their seats, when two men appear. Dark suits, sunglasses, and black fedoras.</p><p>Isa turns around, smiling at them in greeting, waving a hand slightly. “Hey guys.”</p><p>The one on the left nods. “Boss.”</p><p>He waves a hand. “You got the goods?”</p><p>Both men nod, stepping forward, the one on the right crosses around the other side of the table, passing his cargo to the twins. “Thanks, Johnny, you the man.” The one he’d addressed comes closer to him, holding out a slushie and a chocolate chip cookie. “Thanks, guys.”</p><p>“We got you, boss.” The one who handed him his treats tips his fedora at him. “You said you had a stiff one?”</p><p>“Uh, yea, in the Infirmary, out those doors, down the hall, fifth door on the right.”</p><p>The two men nod, crossing around the side of the table, disappearing out the aforementioned doors.</p><p>The twins lean back in their seats, munching quietly on their skittles, and Isa turns, smirking at the older hunter. “Told’ya.”</p><p>Sam and Dean exchange looks. “<em>How</em>?”</p><p>He shrugs, taking a sip from his slushie, then a bite from his cookie. “I’m a mafia boss.”</p><p>“You’re <em>sixteen</em>!”</p><p>He tilts his head slightly, swallowing his mouthful of cookie. “So?”</p><p>The two men appear, carrying the body between them, and the Nephilim nods at them. “You guys are the best.” The pause behind the twins. “Anything else we can do, boss?”</p><p>He waves a few fingers at them, taking another sip from his slushie. “Nah, I’m cool, you guys have a great night.”</p><p>The men bow their heads slightly, and move away, Isa snaps his fingers again, and they disappear, he turns back to face the table. “Well, that’s been taken care, ain’t nobody gonna find nothing.”</p><p>Raphael falls heavily in the chair next to him, rubbing at his face. “My son’s a <em>criminal</em>.”</p><p>The Healer’s son turns to look at him, patting him on the shoulder lightly, taking a sip from his slushie. “Don’t worry, dad, I haven’t dispatched anyone in years.” He jumps when his dad drops his head onto the table and turns to look at his cousins. “I think I broke him.”</p><p>Jack shakes his head, throwing a skittle in his twin’s mouth. “No, what you did is ruin a perfectly good Archangel, that’s what you did,” Danny snorts when he gestures to their Uncle. “Look at him, he’s got anxiety.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0045"><h2>45. Caught In The Act</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He knew his son was up to no good when he failed to show up when he was <em>supposed </em>to, and he sighed, rubbing at his temple lightly, and shook his head, of course, it was always <em>his </em>son, none of the others ever got into this much trouble. He closes his eyes, looking for his son’s familiar grace signature, and nods when he locates it, going after it with a soft flutter of wings.</p><p>Out of all the places he’d thought he’d find his only child, finding him laying near the edge of a building, peering through the scope of a rifle was not one of the, and he crosses his arms, standing just behind him, watching him speak into an earpiece he can’t see. “Got’em, I want another two million.” He raises an eyebrow. “For wasting my fucking time, there’s interest too, I’d hurry, he’s on the move.” He hears someone yell, from the earpiece he can’t see, he assumes. “My window is closing fast, do you want him taken out or not, choice is yours, now its two point five million,” the boy pauses. “Because, you’re pissing me off, that’s why.” The child’s phone dings, and he leans over, checking the notification, before settling back into position. “Good choice, good choice, he’s been taken care of.” He watches as the boy pulls the trigger, his eyes tracking the bullet through the air, as it pierces the target’s forehead, and he falls back, limply, crashing to the floor. “Nice doin’ business with ya, tell your friends.”</p><p>The boy reaches for his right ear, pulling out the small earpiece he couldn’t see, and rises to his knees, reaching for his phone to stuff into his back pocket.</p><p>That’s when he decides to make his presence known, Raphael leans forward, and the boy yelps as his fingers curl around his ear, tugging him up to his feet, he leans in close, close enough that he can whisper in his ear. “You’ve got some <em>explaining </em>to do.”</p><p>…</p><p>Isa fiddles with his fingers, feeling his dad’s stare on him, and takes a deep breath as he looks up. “Dad, can I have my gun back, it’s was specially made?”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>He makes a face. “Can I have it back if I say <em>‘please’</em>?”</p><p>“Isaiah.” There’s a sharp edge to his dad’s tone. “Don’t push it.” He closes his mouth an audible pop. “So, Isaiah, what is it this time?”</p><p>“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”</p><p>“Isaiah, you’re already in <em>deep </em>trouble, might I suggest not making it worse for yourself.”</p><p>The Nephilim averts his eyes. “Hitman for hire.”</p><p>He hears his dad heave a sigh. “Get the belt, Isaiah.”</p><p>“Do I—”</p><p><em>“Get </em>the belt, Isaiah.”</p><p>He nods quickly, jumping up from his chair, jumping around the edge of the desk for the belt that’s kept in the closet. His dad’s chair creaks as he stands, and when he turns back, the Archangel is waiting there for him, holding his hand out expectantly. “Bare yourself and over the edge.”</p><p>Isa nods mutely, tugging his jeans and boxers down slightly, leaning over the front of his dad’s desk.</p><p>“How many lives have you taken, Isaiah?”</p><p>He bites his lip. “Twenty-four.”</p><p>His dad hums behind him. “Twenty-four lashes.”</p><p>By the time their done, he’s sobbing in his hands, his butt’s on fire, and he’s forced back to sit in one of the wooden chairs behind him, when his bottom touches down on the cool surface, he shrieks, jumping up, a large hand curls around his shoulder and pushes him back down. “Sit, or we’ll add extra lashes.”</p><p>He shakes his head, Isa forces himself to sit there, and sit still, sobbing into his hands. He wants his dad to hold him, he want’s to be in his arms, he wants him to scratch the back of his head.</p><p>Raphael sits back in his chair on the other side of his desk, staring down at the gun resting in the middle of his desk, tapping his lips with a finger. Part of him, the part he does not like, thinks he should shoot the boy in the hand or the shoulder, so he knows how it feels like, but then, the more conscientious part of him, the knowledgeable part of him, knows his son already know what that feels like, a bit more then he’d like him to.</p><p>He looks up, over his son’s head, when someone knocks on his office door. “Come in.”</p><p>The door opens, and Oren peeks in, as though to make sure it was okay, and he waves him in. His Captain spares the sobbing Nephilim a glance, coming to stand at his side, and his eyes widen when they fall upon the weapon resting on his desk. “Um, Raph…Where’d you get a snipers rifle?”</p><p>He follows his gesture when he points to the Nephilim sobbing in the chair next to him.</p><p>The Virtue looks back at him with wide eyes, completely stumped, and the Healer nods silently. “What can I do for you, Oren?”</p><p>“Oh, right, Lamechiel wanted me to give you this.” He holds a feather out to him, it’s familiar, he’s seen this kind of feather before, and he reaches out to take it. “Tagas is going through a molt, Lam knew you’d been grooming his wings once a week to help the new feathers come in, it looks like one of the new ones.”</p><p>“It is.” Raphael hums, running a finger down the ridge, smiling when the bristles move fluidly with the motion. “It’s healthy, once he’s through with his molt, the feathers should come in full and strong.” He looks up to his Virtue. “Is he alright, I can imagine knowing that your new feathers coming out would be quite upsetting, he’s been rather upset about the state of his wings.”</p><p>Oren nods lightly. “He had a bit of an episode, but Lam’s going through his molt too, he assured him the feathers would grow back in healthy and stronger, they’re going to check their wings together once a week to check on the progress.” He hums softly. “That satisfied the youngling, he’s alright now, he’s helping Kalaziel with his paperwork, they’re distracting him from his molting, just incase he gets upset again.”</p><p>The Archangel nods, setting the feather down on his desk, leaning over to rest his elbow on the arm rest, resting his chin on his fingers, his eyes trail back over to his son, his sobs have calmed down, but he’s still crying softly. “Have Geburatiel give him a wing massage, that’ll help soothe him, it might put him to sleep, so make sure he’s prepared for that if that happens.”</p><p>“Right,” The Captain spares the Nephilim a glance. “I’ll..Uh….Leave you to it.”</p><p>Raphael nods, staring at his son as the Virtue makes his leave, Isa refuses to meet his eyes. “Isaiah, I don’t know what else to do with you. This,” he pats the butt of the gun. “This is crossing the line. I’ve let you slide with many, <em>many </em>things, but this, <em>this</em> is going too far.” He shakes his head slightly. “And, I just don’t know what else to do with you, clearly nothing I do now is getting through to you.” Sighing deeply, he rubs at his temple, closing his eyes for a moment. “I’ve had your Uncle look into a few military schools—”</p><p>That gets him his child’s attention, the boy’s head snaps up, eyes wide. “<em>No! </em>Daddy, no!” He shakes his head quickly. “Daddy, please don’t send me away! Please! I’ll do better! I promise! I’ll be better! Please don’t send me away! Give me another chance, please, daddy, please, give me another chance!”</p><p>“I’m going to seal your grace and you’re going to go to a one-month program.”</p><p>“<em>Daddy! Daddy, no!” </em>The Nephilim jumps from his chair, ignoring the fact that his dad hadn’t told him he could get up, feeling more tears flooding into his eyes. <em>“Daddy, please, please don’t send me away! Please! I’ll be good! I promise!”</em></p><p>“You leave in the morning.”</p><p>Isa pulls his boxers and pants back up, rubbing a hand under his nose, pulling back his tears. “If…If you want to get rid of me, fine, <em>fine</em>, I’ll go, I’ll leave, and you’ll <em>never </em>find me.”</p><p>“Isa, I’m not trying to—”</p><p>The boy’s gone in the blink of an eye, and the Archangel heaves a sigh, rubbing at his temple again, reaching out for him with his grace, they’re connected, he always knows where his son is.</p><p>He straightens, though, eyes widening, when he finds that he <em>can’t </em>find him, he <em>can’t </em>locate him, he <em>can’t </em>feel him.</p><p>
  <em>I’ll leave, and you’ll <strong>never</strong> find me. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Shit.</em>
</p><p>…</p><p>It’s been a month, a <em>whole</em> month, since his Archangel’s son disappeared. He’d told him not to, Isa was attached to them, he was okay wandering with the wind because he knew he <em>could </em>come back at the end of the day, he’d <em>warned </em>him not to threaten to send him to a military school, where he <em>wouldn’t </em>be able to come back.</p><p>He’d <em>warned </em>him.</p><p>Akriel felt no sympathy for the grief his Archangel was going through, Isa needed his father just as much as Raphael needed his son, they gave each other life, strength, and hope.</p><p>Michael had dispatched legions to search the Earth for him, Lucifer had sent his demons, they’d been sent out, even the other Nephilim, who knew him almost as well as his father did, joined in on the search parties, and all of them had come back empty handed.</p><p>Never, in a million years, had they thought that the most energetic Nephilim, would be able to disappear off the face of the Earth, they knew he was down there, sure, but they didn’t know where, they couldn’t find him, no one could, not even Father.</p><p>Raphael was a mess, there was no other way to describe it, he was frantic when it came to finding his only son. He was guilty, for even thinking about sending him away, Isa needed them, he <em>couldn’t </em>not be allowed to return to them when he needed them.</p><p>Four months after he’d disappeared, they found him, Nisroc and Michael appeared at the entrance of the Infirmary, carrying the limp dripping unconscious Nephilim son of the Healer. Numerous healers ran forward, some ran to get their Archangel, Oren appeared in front of the Powers’ Captain in an instant, taking the limp form from his arms quickly, thanking him softly under his breath, and turned, rushing him further inside, he was <em>freezing </em>but he wasn’t <em>moving, </em>he wasn’t even shivering, which was the body’s way of warming itself. His head lulled against his shoulder, arms hanging limp down his sides, wheezing softly for breath.</p><p>“Oren, <em>Oren</em>,” he ignored the sound of his Archangel’s voice, setting the boy down on an empty bed, Akriel appears at his side, tugging the boy’s wet sneakers off and then his socks. “Costa, Eph!” The two youngest Virtues appear at the call of their name, and he turns to look at them quickly, nodding in the direction of their Archangel. “Get Raph back to his office.”</p><p>“I’ll take care of him.”</p><p>They all look over at the sound of the oldest Archangel’s voice, Michael nods at them, sparing his nephew a concerned glance, and forcibly turned his younger brother around, he would be of no help, no one was when the patient was one they loved as much as he loved his son.</p><p>He nods, turning back to his two younger brothers. “Eph, go to Zed, tell him we need whatever he’s got for pneumonia. Costa, pull the dividers around.” They nod, darting off, and he turns his attention back to his baby brother, taking a deep breath, to steady himself, he continues on.</p><p>Akriel tugs his soaked jeans off, followed by his boxers, he helps him peel the frozen jacket from his shoulders, then tug his soaked shirt up over his head, pulling the blankets up over him. “Costa,” the young Virtue appears at the sound of his name. “Go get a few thicker wool blankets.” He nods, darting around the end of the dividers, disappearing from view. “I’ll start the IV.”</p><p>Oren nods lightly. “I’m going to intubate him, he’s barely breathing, when you’re done with the IV, insert a chest tube, his lungs are too full of fluid, that’s why he’s barely breathing, we need to drain them.”</p><p>The second oldest Virtue nods, turning the boy’s arm over, finding the vein in the inner elbow, he sticks the needle of the IV line in, tapping it in place. “Where do you think he was?”</p><p>“I haven’t the faintest idea,” the Captain shrugs, pushing the tube down into the Nephilim’s airway, hooking it up to the ventilator. “But, he’s freezing, his jacket is nearly frozen, I’d say Antarctica.”</p><p>“How’d he cloak himself, though, I mean, don’t him and Raph have a sire bond?”</p><p>“Yes, they do, but Isa’s figured out a way to push his grace in so deep, <em>so </em>deep, that it basically closes the bond. The only other time he’s done that is when he was sold to that plantation in Georgia.”</p><p>Akriel nods, piercing the boy’s chest, pushing a small draining tube in the incision, fluid immediately starts to drip in the bucket on the other end.</p><p>Ephraim returns, a few vials in hand, and he freezes momentarily, seeing ones baby brother in such a way would bring anyone to a brief pause. “Here, Zed said this is what you’ll need.” Oren nods, taking the vials from him, passing them over to the mental specialist, to insert in the IV. “Ori, is he going to be okay?”</p><p>His Captain pats his cheek lightly. “He’s going to be just fine, Eph, go find out what’s taking Costa so long with getting those wool blankets.”</p><p>He nods, darting away again, and he turns back to his brother across from him. Akriel straightens curling the vials in his hand, looking down at the small Nephilim, shaking his head lightly. “He looks so small.”</p><p>“He <em>is </em>small.”</p><p>The other groans, rubbing at his face. “You <em>know </em>what I <em>mean</em>.”</p><p>“I do,” Oren nods, watching their baby brother’s peaceful face, his chest rising and falling because of the ventilator. “He does look small.”</p><p>“Sorry it took me so long; I couldn’t find any clean ones.” Constantine returns, his arms laden with wool blankets, and they both nod, taking a blanket from him, shaking it out, and drapes it over the unconscious Nephilim child. “Is he…Is he…”</p><p>Akriel smiles up at him. “He’ll be fine, should be awake by tomorrow, but he’s going to be in pretty bad shape for a short while.”</p><p>…</p><p>Raphael’s been sitting at his son’s bedside for two days, holding his hand, hoping and praying for <em>any </em>sign of movement, <em>anything</em>, anything at all. He’s just resting when he feels it, a slight twitch from the fingers in his hand, and he’s awake in an instant, watching those fingers twitch slightly, they curl slightly, slowly, curling around his fingers, and he lifts the small hand, pressing his lips to the back of those fingers.</p><p>A day later, and the boy wakes up, he looks up from the book he’s reading when he hears him choke, and he’s on his feet in an instant, leaning over him, brushing his curls back. “It’s alright, my little one, you’re alright, let me take it out, just a moment.” He quickly pulls the tube out, pushing the ventilator back, the boy coughs, it’s loud and echoes, once he’s calmed down, coughing under control, he looks up at him, tears making his bright blue eyes shimmer. “Oh, it’s alright, little one, you’re alright, I’m here, it’s alright.” He reaches out, wiping a tear up with his thumb when it trickles down his cheek, and squeezes his fingers. “You’re alright, I’m so sorry, Isa, I’m so, <em>so </em>sorry, I should never have thought about sending you away, I’m so sorry, can you ever forgive me?”</p><p>Isa nods weakly, clutching at his hand, tugging lightly, and he nods, laying beside him, precariously, on the edge of the bed, raising his arm as the boy sidles up closer, they’d taken the chest tube out the day before, there was no worry about fluid spilling everywhere. Curls brush against the underside of his chin as his child rests his head on his chest. He looks up when he sees movement, Akriel smiles down at him, moving the pole holding the boy’s IV around, so he can rest comfortable and not have to worry about pulling on it. Akriel looks at something over his head, and Oren appears, pushing the bed beside them over, pushing the two beds together, and he rests more comfortably, without the fear of falling over the edge of the bed.</p><p>His Captain drapes a blanket over them. “Get some rest, Raph, you’ve been awake here for four days, get some rest with your boy.”</p><p>The Archangel nods, turning to look down at his child, Isa’s already fallen asleep, and he smiles, brushing a kiss over his forehead. “I’m <em>never</em> letting you go.”</p><p>…</p><p>“I’m sorry, daddy.” The boy’s voice is still raspy from disuse, to have such a severe case of pneumonia, there was no telling on when he’d actually contracted it, nor how long he’d actually had it. “I’m sorry.”</p><p>“No, little one,” Raphael looks down at him, watching him play with the fingers of his right hand, rubbing his finger over the gold band around his ring finger. “<em>I’m</em> sorry. I should have never even <em>thought </em>about sending you away, dare I say, I don’t think <em>I</em> would have lasted a month without having you returning to me every night. I’m so, <em>so </em>sorry.”</p><p>Isa looks up at him, his fingers still curled around his, and sniffs softly, a stuffy nose and a slight cough, the remnants of his severe sickness. “I promise to be good from now on.”</p><p>“Oh, Isa, you <em>are </em>good.” He squeezes the boy into his side for a brief moment. “I don’t mind you going on your adventures, getting into trouble, or trying, shall we say, idiotic ideas, no matter how many grays they may give me, I don’t mind you being mischievous and curious.” He relaxes his hold. “Just, no more taking lives, alright, can you promise me that?”</p><p>The Nephilim smiles up at him. “I promise, daddy.”</p><p>“Thank you,” he leans over, pressing a kiss to the youth’s head, pushing his head back down gently with his other hand. “Let’s get some more rest.”</p><p>“Aw, but, daddy, I feel so much better.”</p><p>“Yes, you feel better because you’re <em>resting</em>.”</p><p>The Nephilim settles down against him, curling his fingers through his, and wraps his arm around him. “Will read me to sleep, daddy?”</p><p>“Yes, little one, I’ll read you to sleep.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0046"><h2>46. Pun Intended</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Apply this every two hours to avoid infection.” The Archangel holds out a jar to the patient he was discharging, sighing when he feels the Nephilim lean around from behind him, his fingers curled around his arm. “It works winters!”</p><p>Isa had made a comment about his hands being cold this morning, he’d pushed his grace back, because of the warm weather, and the boy was now taking it upon himself to make as many horrible puns about it as he could.</p><p>…</p><p>Oren approaches carefully, he could feel his Archangel’s emotions rolling around them, smiling at the Nephilim perched on the edge of the Archangel’s desk.</p><p>Isa waves at him. “Hey, big brother, I cold see you coming from a mile away!”</p><p>The Captain looks around him when he hears the Healer heave a massive sigh.</p><p>…</p><p>Constantine, leaned against the side of his Archangel’s desk, complaining softly about his latest mission involving the Winchesters, watching the Nephilim play a game on his phone from over his shoulder. Raphael hummed along, sifting through the charts littering his desk, nodding every now and then, he <em>was </em>listening, he was just busy, too.</p><p>“So, I told him, I told him that if he gained at least one brain cell, I’d be more then willing to cooperate, and he—”</p><p>The Nephilim huffs, losing his game, and having to start over. “I wouldn’t cold your breath.”</p><p>The Virtue looks down to his Archangel when he sees him drop his head into his hands.</p><p>…</p><p>Akriel stares down at the Nephilim, laying stretched over the side of their Archangel’s desk, hanging upside down over the edge, playing another game on his phone, Raphael didn’t seem bothered by it, one hand curled around the boy’s calf and the other writing something in a chart.</p><p>“Isa, you’re gonna die if you stay like that, your face is as red as a tomato.”</p><p>The Nephilim doesn’t so much as spare him a glance. “Cold of you to assume I don’t want to die.”</p><p>The mental specialist looks up in surprise when the Healer lets go of the child’s leg, and he yelps as he tumbles over the edge of the desk.</p><p>…</p><p>Ephraim grabs the bandages his Archangel holds out to him, binding the other arm, as the young patient smiles up at the Healer. “You’re not as bad as I thought you’d be.”</p><p>Raphael smiles down at him. “I’m glad.”</p><p>They blush slightly when they realize what they’d said. “So, how do you know how to do all of this?”</p><p>Before the Archangel can answer, a young voice interrupts, sitting on the bed next to them, watching a video on his phone. “You know what they say, the colder you are, the wiser you are.”</p><p>Ephraim blinks in surprise as he watches the Healer turn and shove the Nephilim off the other bed.</p><p>…</p><p>Zed smiles at his Archangel as he passes him his latest potion, ruffling the Nephilim’s curls lightly as he straightens, and turns to make his leave, when a small hand grabs his wrist.</p><p>Isa stares at him with all the intensity of the world. “Freeze don’t go.”</p><p>Admittedly, he jumps, when the Healer drops his head down on his desk with a loud thump.</p><p>…</p><p>Raphael stands from the edge of the bed of a sick patient, after giving them their cough medicine, and leans over to set the cup on the bedside table. Silence.</p><p>Just silence.</p><p>And he breathes a sigh of relief, the boy has gone, no more puns, no more.</p><p>“Coughs and freezes spread diseases.”</p><p>“Okay, Isa, alright,” he finally turns, pointing a finger in the boy’s face, those nearest them stop to watch the spectacle unfold. “You’ve gone one pun too far. I <em>can’t</em> take it anymore, stop, just <em>stop</em>.”</p><p>The boy reaches back to stuff his phone into his back pocket, staring up at him in turn, and backs up a step. “It’s not all about you. Get colder yourself.”</p><p>“You <em>little—”</em></p><p>The Nephilim’s eyes widen, ducking under the hand that reaches out for him, yelping as he turns and bolts. Zooming through the healers in the way, not caring who he runs into, when he hears the thumps of boots as his dad makes chase. He breaks through the doors, darting to the steps, taking them two at a time, when he reaches the bottom, he chances a glance over his shoulder, and squeaks, darting into the crowd on the Axis. No one parts for him, but he doesn’t have to look back to know that they’re parting for his dad, because they’re all losers.</p><p>Turning a corner, he runs up the dirt path to the Garden, trying to lose him in the crowd, and chances another glance over his shoulder, shrieking in surprise, he’s nearly right behind him, and breaks through the edge of the trees, darting around thick trunks, weaving between trees, he jumps over upturned tree trunks, over boulders, splashes through a stream midway through, and breaks through the edge of the tree line on the other side.</p><p>Isa’s about half way across, when arms curl around his waist, yanking him up off his feet, he looks down at the dark arms circled around him in horror.</p><p>His dad’s voice purrs in his ear. “Oh, now someone’s in trouble.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0047"><h2>47. My Imagination</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Surely, you remember Zachariah giving you stomach cancer.”</p><p>Dean Winchester pulls the beer from his mouth, stricken for a moment, and turns around to face the angered Archangel. “Yea, that was real fun.”</p><p>Raphael smiles slightly. “Yes, well, he has nothing on <em>my</em> imagination.”</p><p>“Yes,” they all fall still at the other voice, Dean sends a look over at Castiel, the seraph shakes his head lightly, they’d only planned for the Archangel, not anyone else, they hadn’t planned on anyone coming after him. “And, <em>his </em>imagination has nothing on <em>my </em>imagination.”</p><p>A shadow moves behind the Archangel, Raphael smiles, actually smiles, raising his arm slightly, a boy appears, a teenager, stepping out of the shadows, curls pulled back in a poofy bun on the back of his head, bright blue eyes gleaming in the darkened room, and he ducks under the Archangel’s arm, pressing into his side, curling his arm around the man’s waist.</p><p>“Isa, my child,” the Archangel holds out his hand. “What did you give this man?”</p><p>The teenager smiles, reaching around his with his other, pulling various vials from his pocket, passing them over to the Archangel. Raphael hums, reading the labels. “Polio, Tuberculosis, Smallpox, The Black Death, and Ebola.” He looks down at the boy. “Isa, what have I said about raiding my stores?”</p><p>“To not to.”</p><p>“And, what is it that you did?”</p><p>The boy bites his lip. “Raid your stores.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0048"><h2>48. Son Of The Healer</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Isa! Isa, we have to get you to your dad!”</p><p>He grits his teeth as he lifts his shirt, turning slightly to get a good look at it, an arrows sticking out of his side, the battle raging around them, around their patch of protection in this wooded area, their dads out there fighting along side the Winchesters and their pet. He shakes his head slightly. “No, no we can’t, we <em>weren’t </em>supposed to <em>follow </em>remember?” Isa pokes a finger at it. “My dad would <em>patch me up </em>just so he could <em>kill </em>me.” He shakes his head. “No, I know what to do, we don’t have to tell my dad, I know what we have to do.”</p><p>Jack leans in closer to inspect the damage. “You do?”</p><p>“Um, yea, I’m the son of the <em>Healer</em>.” Isa sounds mildly offended. “Of course, I know what to do.”</p><p>Austin nods. “That’s good enough for me, tell us what to do, and we’ll do it.”</p><p>He nods slightly. “We have to get the arrow out, but we need something to compress it, so it doesn’t bleed out, something to seal it.”</p><p>Adam raises his hand slightly. “I could freeze it.”</p><p>“That’ll work.” Isa turns his attention to the twins. “One of you, cover my mouth.”</p><p>Danny nods, coming to stand at his other side, and the Egyptian Nephilim looks over to his blonde cousin. “You have to break the shaft off, before you pull the arrowhead out, we don’t need anything getting in the way.”</p><p>Michael’s son nods, reaching out for the arrow, Danny curls his hand over his cousin’s mouth, Isa clenches his eyes shut, screaming into his cousins hand when they break the shaft and yank the arrowhead out, Adam freezing the wound before much blood could seep out. Panting slightly, Isa nods, and Danny removes his hand, gritting his teeth again, he looks down at the damage, they can’t leave the ice there for too long, or he’ll start getting frost bite, and his dad would <em>definitely </em>notice that. “O—Okay, we have to disinfect it before we seal it.”</p><p>Jack nods. “What do we need?”</p><p>Biting his lip, he looks up to his dark-haired cousin. “We can use hot water. Austin, cup the ice in your hands, and boil it.”</p><p>He frowns. “What if I burn you?”</p><p>“Dude! I have a <em>hole</em> in my side! We’re running on limited time! Fucking burn me, then!”</p><p>His cousin nods, Danny curls his hand back around his mouth, and Austin curls his hands around the ice, pushing his heat into it, it melts, and instantly starts boiling. Isa screams again, biting his lip so hard he tastes blood, and then he nods, Austin pulls away, the boiling water falling to the ground, Danny pulls his hand back again. “Now, we have to seal it.”</p><p>Adam leans over, examining the wound for a moment. “How do we do that?”</p><p>“My dad has the supplies in his room,” Isa slowly stands, his legs shaking slightly, and the twins catch him under the arms before he can fall over. “Get me back there and I can do it.”</p><p>“You’re going to stitch yourself up?”</p><p>“Can any of you do it?” Silence. “That’s what I thought.” He nods lightly. “I can do it, just get me back there.”</p><p>They all look to the twins, and they nod, reaching out, they trace golden runes in the air, and nod, a gateway opens, and they all rush through, before anyone can notice.</p><p>…</p><p>“Okay, okay,” Isa bites his tongue for a moment. “Set me on the edge of the bed.” Jack and Danny nod, helping him forward, and around, so he can sit on the edge of the bed. “The cupboard above the desk, there’s a needle and thread, get me that.”</p><p>Adam nods, crossing the room, reaching up for the door handle, and opens the cupboard, there’s a pin cushion and a roll of thread, and he grabs them both. “These?”</p><p>The Healer’s son nods his head. “Yea, those.” He holds his hand out expectantly, and the blonde Nephilim returns to his side, handing him the things he’d asked for. His hands shake slightly, as he pulls a needle out of the pin cushion and reaches for the thread, he groans in irritation when he can’t get it, and takes a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down, and holds his breath as he tries to thread the needle again.</p><p>Setting those aside, he grimaces, whining softly, as he pulls his shirt up over his head, he can’t have that getting in the way.</p><p>Looking over, leaning in a rather uncomfortable fashion, he looks down at the wound, biting his lip, he forces himself to keep from crying out, and pushes the needle through his skin, one side of the gaping hole, and then through the other side, pulling it together, before repeating all over again.</p><p>He’s two stitches in, when they hear the screen door open, the sound of boots entering the Villa, and they all look over to the door in horror. Isa kicks Jack in the shin, and the twin turns to look at him, he waves a hand, mimicking them when they write their runes, and Jack nods, elbowing his brother in the side, and together they write, forcing them in a mirror dimension.</p><p>Danny turns to look at them, holding a finger to his lips, and taps his head. They all nods silently, and the twins move carefully to tap them all on the head, creating a mental link between them all.</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>‘Don’t make any noise, we’re in a mirror dimension, so they can’t see us, but they can still hear us.’</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>Jack looks over to his cousin. <strong><em>‘Can you finish without making any noise?’</em></strong></p><p>Isa nods, biting his lip, sparing him a look. <strong><em>‘Um, I guess I sort of have to, so, sure?’</em></strong></p><p>Austin raises his hand slightly and they turn to look at him. <strong><em>‘Can they like….sense us or something?’</em></strong></p><p>Danny shrugs lightly. <strong><em>‘Don’t know, we never tried it around them before, the pagans can’t, but they’re not as powerful as they are.’</em></strong></p><p>Adam waves his hand slightly. <strong><em>‘Can they touch us, or will they walk through us?’</em></strong></p><p>Jack shrugs. <strong><em>‘The pagans can’t, but we’re not sure about them, I think it’s best if we try not to find out.’ </em></strong></p><p>They all nod at that. <strong><em>‘Agreed.’</em></strong></p><p>Isa returns to his stitching, it’s a slow process, it’s not exactly in the most prime location. The others keep watch for anyone coming in, and when they seem them making their way down the hall, they make it known.</p><p>Austin turns to his cousin on the bed quickly. <strong><em>‘Isa, your dad’s coming!’</em></strong></p><p><strong><em>‘Okay, thanks for the warning.’ </em></strong>Isa looks up at the same time his dad turns the corner, they watch on bated breath as Raphael pauses, looking around his room silently, fearing he sees the slight shimmer of their mirror dimension. He shakes his head though, stepping into the room, Adam jumps aside as he strides passed him, setting his staff to lean against his desk, and his bow to hang on a hook on the wall. <strong><em>‘Warn me if he’s coming to the bed.’</em></strong></p><p>Danny nods lightly. <strong><em>‘Sure thing, cous.’</em></strong></p><p>Isa returns to his stitching, biting his lip to keep from crying out, when he tears through the hole he poked, his hands are shaking. Jack curls a hand around his mouth when he whines softly, and Raphael’s head shoots around, biting his lip, praying to any of the Norse gods that he doesn’t think anyone’s there. The watch his emerald eyes look right passed them, surveying his room, and he shakes his head, reaching for one of the charts on his desk.</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>‘Thanks, J.’</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>‘Don’t mention it, dude.’</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>Isa tries to be as silent as he can be, poking a new hole in, and pulling the thread through, pulling the two sides together, he feels slightly lightheaded, probably from being in this position for so long, and he straightens, giving himself a moment to calm down, as much as he can given the circumstances. Jack steps in closer when his dad brushes passed him, heading for the wardrobe on the other side of the room, and they watch him pull the door open</p><p>He returns to his stitching, biting his lip again, inhaling softly as he sticks the needle back in, curls it around to the other side, and pulls the thread tight.</p><p>They watch Raphael tug his shirt up over his head, toss it in the hamper, and reach in for a new one, pulling that on instead. He toes his boots off, and turns, rubbing the back of his head silently. <strong><em>‘Isa, he’s coming to the bed!’</em></strong></p><p>He’s mid stitch when he hears that, and Isa jumps to the other side of the bed, crying out at the pain that shoots up his side, before slapping a hand over his mouth.</p><p>The Archangel freezes, turning in his direction, and he stares at him with wide eyes, praying to anyone that will listen that he doesn’t reach out. Raphael looks around, his eyes narrowed this time, and Isa’s eyes widen when he feels his grace sweeping around the room, searching for anything out of place.</p><p>His green eyes return to him, and he presses his hand to his mouth harder, leaning as much as he can to the side, when he reaches out. <strong><em>‘Isa, don’t let him touch you! If he pulls you out it’ll shatter the mirror!’</em></strong></p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>‘I’m fucking trying asshole; this isn’t exactly easy for me! It fucking hurts!’ </em>
  </strong>
</p><p>“Isa?” The five Nephilim watch in horror as the Healer’s hand curls around his son’s arm, and pulls, Raphael starts in surprise when they all just appear, in various positions in his room. “Children?”</p><p>Isa whines softly. “Dad, will you <em>please</em> let go of my arm, this really hurts, and I’m not done.”</p><p>“Not done with—<em>Isa</em>!” His dad leans in close, coming to kneel at his side, moving his arm away slightly to examine the half-sealed hole. “What happened?” No one makes a sound. “Someone had best say something.”</p><p>“We….Um, we followed you guys?” Jack rubs the back of his head nervously.</p><p>“Is that a question or a statement?”</p><p>“A statement. Sir.”</p><p>The Healer takes the needle from his son, tugging on it, the thread was tight, but not tight enough. “You’re all grounded.”</p><p>“Aww, come on!”</p><p>“<em>Grounded.” </em>Any and all protest is cut off by his tone. “Put your phones on my desk.” They all shuffle across the room to turn over their devices. “Now, go tell your fathers what you did.” He hears them shuffle out in silence, and he looks up at his own child. “I should belt you for deliberately disobeying me.” The Nephilim gulps softly, shaking his head pleadingly, whining as he threads the needle through his skin, pulling the stitch tight. “But, I won’t, I think this is punishment enough.”</p><p>Isa smiles lightly. “Thanks, dad.”</p><p>“Don’t thank me yet, I’m going to smother you, like you’ve never been smothered before.”</p><p>The boy groans dramatically. “I think I’d rather take the belt.”</p><p>He chuckles softly. “Too bad.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0049"><h2>49. Haunting Nightmares</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He hums when he hears a knock on his office door, it opens, he hears the lock click open, and a head pokes in. “Dad, can I come in?”</p><p>The Healer waves the boy in, and he sees him slip in from the corner of his eye, the door closing softly behind him. “What happened, this time, Isa?”</p><p>“N—Nothing happened.” Raphael looks up from his work at the boy’s stutter, he’s exhausted, that’s the first thing he locks onto, his curls are a mess, eyes bloodshot, the bags under his eyes gaining bags of their own, he’s mentally and physically exhausted. “I—I just need y—your help.”</p><p>“With what, my little one?” His tone softens just a tad. “What can I do to help you?”</p><p>Isa curls his fingers in the hem of his shirt, biting his lip firmly for a moment, and heaves a great sigh. “Dad, I can’t sleep.”</p><p>“I can see that, you look about ready to keel over, when was the last time you slept?”</p><p>“Three and a half days ago.”</p><p>His eyes widen slightly. “Isa, you haven’t slept for nearly four days?”</p><p>The Nephilim sighs deeply, rubbing at his head lightly, tugging on his messy curls slightly. “Dad, I <em>can’t </em>sleep. <em>Every </em>time I try, all I see are <em>those </em>things, the <em>bad </em>things. I’m <em>so </em>tired but I <em>can’t </em>sleep!”</p><p>The Archangel looks him over with concern. “You’ve been having bad dreams?” He sighs when the boy nods. “Isa, my son, why didn’t you tell me, I would have given you something for dreamless sleep.”</p><p>The boy scuffs his sneaker over the stone floor, crossing his arms behind his back, looking down for a moment. “Because, you’d been really busy lately, and haven’t been getting much sleep, and I didn’t want to worry you.”</p><p>“Isa,” he sets his pen down, leaning back in his chair, waiting for the boy to give him his attention. “You <em>always </em>come first, no matter how busy I am, nor who needs me, you are my <em>first </em>priority.”</p><p>His son sighs softly, looking down again. “I’m sorry, dad.”</p><p>“It’s nothing to be sorry over,” he turns slightly, waving him over. “Kick off your sneakers and come over here.” Isa nods, toeing off his hightops, he darts forward, letting his dad guide him down into his lap, legs curled around his waist, laying against his chest, his head cushioned on his shoulder, his dad rubs a hand over the side of his head gently. “Get some sleep, my little one, I’ll keep the bad dreams away.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0050"><h2>50. A Battle Of Scars</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“I got this one when I was bought in Georgia by a plantation owner.” They watch silently as Raphael’s son turns, pulling the back of his shirt up, revealing a large brand on his lower back, Michael leans closer, it’s a name, a name has been branded on his nephew’s back. When he sits back, Gabriel and Lucifer look at him, and he nods, they’d seen it correctly.</p><p>The five of them had sat in the middle of the floor, starting a competition to see who had the best scar, and, watching them point out one after another, the Archangels felt concern swell up in them, just how much had their children been through that they didn’t know about.</p><p>“I got this one when someone tried to cut my hand off.” Jack holds his right hand up, and sure enough, a thick raised scar circles around his wrist.</p><p>Gabriel raises an eyebrow, he hadn’t known that, when had his son’s hand almost been cut off, and why?</p><p>“I got these when they tried to burn me at the stake.” Adam pulls the legs of his sweat pants up, and there, plain as day, were burn scars. “Just so you all know, fire, it burns.”</p><p>Lucifer frowns lightly, eyeing his son’s legs, he hadn’t known that.</p><p>Danny pulls his shirt up. “I got these when Jack was turned into a wolf and he tore me apart.”</p><p>Austin holds his hands out, the skin rumpled, fingers slightly crooked. “I got these when they tried to crush my hands.” Michael leans over his son’s shoulder, looking down at his hands, frowning in displeasure, he hadn’t known that.</p><p>“I got this,” Isa pulls at his lower lip. “When they tried to sew my mouth shut.”</p><p>Raphael looks up from the book he’d been reading at that, he knew most of his son’s scars and their origins, it was surprising there was some he didn’t know about, he hadn’t known someone had tried to sew his son’s mouth shut.</p><p>“Oh, dude, I know how that feels.” Jack kicks his cousin lightly. “I’ve had that happen. Sucks, don’t it.”</p><p>Gabriel tilts his head, eyebrows scrunching up, looking up to his older brother across from him, Raphael nods his head, he had scars over his lips.</p><p>“Oh,” Adam lifts his shirt, thick lines run from his shoulders, meeting at the center of his chest, and run down to his belly button. “I got this when the British Men Of Letters captured me and did some experiments.”</p><p>Lucifer hums softly, leaning forward to get a better look, and it reminded him as to why he didn’t like the humans, they had experimented on his son, if they weren’t already dead, he’d tear them apart piece by piece.</p><p>Isa raises his hand slightly. “Check it,” he holds his right hand up, pointing to three thick lights over his index, middle, and ring fingers. “I got these when they tried to cut off my fingers.” Raphael frowns, setting his book to the side, and leans closer, eyeing the scars around his child’s fingers.</p><p>Jack and Danny lean into each other. “We think Adam wins.”</p><p>Austin shakes his head. “I think he ties with Isa. I mean, he’s got a <em>brand </em>on his back.”</p><p>The twins nod. “We can settle for that. It’s a tie.”</p><p>“Austin,” Michael calls out. “When were your hands almost crushed?”</p><p>“Adam,” Lucifer intones softly. “When were you almost burned at the stake?”</p><p>“Jack,” Gabriel looks at one twin. “When was your hand almost cut off?” And turns to the other. “Danny, when was your lips sewn shut?”</p><p>“Isa,” Raphael hums softly. “When were your lips almost sewn shut?”</p><p>The cousins realize in horror that their competition had been listened in on. “We plead the fifth.”</p>
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<a name="section0051"><h2>51. Bribing God</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Adam and Austin cross their arms, staring at the Grandfather, not budging from their position on the matter at hand. “We’ll help you,” the blonde points at his three other cousins. “But you bring their dads back.”</p><p>He sighs deeply, nodding His head. “I will, after we take care of My Sister.”</p><p>“No, you bring them back <em>now</em>, or you’re on your own.”</p><p>He narrows His eyes. “Are you <em>bribing </em>Me?”</p><p>Adam taps his lips lightly. “Call it what you want, but you know our terms.”</p><p>He sighs again, nodding His head, they couldn’t do this without all of them, the fathers and the children, and He snaps his fingers.</p><p>…</p><p>Raphael glares at his Father, his son curled around his front, his hand resting on top of his head of curls. “So, let me see if I’m gathering this correctly, you want my <em>teenage son </em>to fight alongside you to fight your Sister.”</p><p>He nods, watching His third born son cautiously, no one, absolutely no one, wanted to tempt <em>his</em> temper.</p><p>“Absolutely not.” The Archangel shakes his head. “I will not put <em>my </em>son in unnecessary danger because of you and your Sister’s quarrel.”</p><p>“Raphael, please,” He tries to interject, the Archangel levels a look on Him, that sends chills down His spine. “As much as we detest thinking about it, the children’s power <em>does </em>supersede ours, we <em>can’t </em>take Her on <em>without</em> them.”</p><p>He narrows his eyes. “You would <em>willingly</em> put your own grandchildren at risk like that?”</p><p>“Son,” He rubs a hand over His forehead. “I don’t like it just as much as you do, but we need them, they are the only ones who can match Her and I in power, and as much as I loath to say it, I am not exactly at My best right now.”</p><p>“Dad,” the Healer looks down at the sound of the child’s voice, meeting his electric-blue eyes, Isa nods his head lightly. “Dad, we can do it.”</p><p>Father and son stare at each other for a moment, a battle of wills, and then the Archangel sighs, nodding his head. “Fine, but you stay at my side the <em>entire </em>time.”</p><p>“Yessir.”</p><p>…</p><p>“Where’d the children go!” Michael looks around frantically, just barely containing their Aunt, the children had been there a moment ago, he’d turned for a mere moment, and then they were gone. “I can’t find them!”</p><p>“<em>What!” </em>Lucifer freezes a tendril of darkness shooting at him, shattering it when a quick punch, looking around for his own child, looking for that familiar head of blonde curls, worry settling in him when he can’t locate it. “Where’d they go! They were right behind us!”</p><p>“I <em>told </em>you this was a bad idea, I <em>told </em>you!” Raphael shouts over the sounds of their Aunt and Father fighting, his own eyes flitting around for his child, worry washing over him when he fails to locate him, something catches his eye, a gold shimmer, a <em>familiar</em> gold shimmer. “Gabriel!” The Messenger’s eyes turn to him, from scanning the warehouse for two identical heads of honey brown hair, following his brother’s gesture, his eyes widening in surprise.</p><p>They’d never seen their children utilize their power at its fullest potential, there was never a need to, it was something they forbade them from doing, not knowing if their mortal bodies could handle it.</p><p>The twins stand under the swirling mass of darkness, tendrils of gold swirling up their bare arms, around their face, as though running through an etching, a specific path, their eyes glowing brightly, their hands curled inwards, a ball of air swirling under their hands.</p><p>Gabriel looks down when he hears the gag, the choking, from the humans below them. “They’re creating a <em>vacuum</em>; I didn’t <em>know </em>they could <em>do </em>that!”</p><p>“They’re pulling the Darkness in,” Michael points to the condensing swirl, slowly being pulled down, inwards. “They’re trapping it inside.”</p><p>“They’re going to suffocate the humans.”</p><p>Raphael looks over to his older brother, nodding slightly, his eyes returning to their search for his missing child, and drops to the floor, touching a hand to each of their chest’s, they inhale deeply, taking in oxygen greedily.</p><p>“Raph!” His attention shoots up, to the Messenger, pointing above himself, there’s his son, floating above them, supercharged, hands pressed together, glowing brightly, curls floating. He raises his hand, stretching his arm out, reaching for the ceiling, nothing happens, there’s silence, complete silence.</p><p>“What the hell is he doing?” He shakes his head at the hunter’s question. “I don’t know.”</p><p>They all jump in surprise, when the roof is torn off the building, swept up in the funnel of a tornado. Isa raises his hand, and they look up to the storm clouds above, watching light churn inside.</p><p>Raphael’s eyes widen and he turns, pulling the humans around with him. “Get down!”</p><p>It sounds like an explosion, the ground shakes wildly, and light consumes the room. It only lasts a moment, then it’s gone, and they all turn around, to see what had happened.</p><p>Father’s closing a hole in the ether, the twins are laying on the floor, letting the rain pour over them. Isa’s sitting above them, they’re talking to each other, he realizes, but he can’t make out what they’re saying.</p><p>The family of hunters stare at the large dark scorch mark on the floor, it’s huge, at least six feet in width.</p><p>Adam appears from behind Isa, pressing his hand to his cousin’s head, he waves a hand, and the rain solidifies into snowflakes, the rain storm turning to a blizzard. Isa yelps, jumping out of the gathering snow, and the twins curse up at their blonde cousin, throwing handfuls of snow up at him. Austin emerges from the shadows, leaning over, he touches a finger to the floor under the two of them, melting the snow.</p><p>“Raph, did you <em>see </em>what your kid did?” Gabriel appears at his side, smiling brightly, proudly, and he shakes his head, no, he had not. “He was freaking <em>glowing</em>, this <em>huge </em>bolt shot down from the clouds, the brightest I’d ever seen before, it consumed him, and then he threw it at evil Aunt. She <em>exploded</em>.”</p><p>“Dark lightning.” They turn to look at him, and Raphael looks between them all, before focusing his gaze on his son, kicking snow over the twins, still laying in their puddle. Adam and Austin are throwing snowballs at each other, Fathers smiling at them from the side, Michael and Lucifer are watching, but talking between each other. “A Superbolt of Dark lightning. The name is deceiving, Dark lightning is the brightest form of lightning, a Superbolt is the strongest, very impressive.” He heaves a sigh. “We should probably get them into dry clothing before they catch themselves a chill.”</p><p>“God, Raph, let them have their fun.”</p><p>“Fine, I will, and <em>you </em>can be the one that takes care of them while they’re sick, <em>instead</em> of me.”</p><p>Gabriel grimaces. “Okay, point made, let’s go get them.”</p>
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<a name="section0052"><h2>52. The Healer's Son</h2></a>
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    <p>He looks between the group they had, having pulled Gabriel back from his hideout on Asgard, with much gusto, Thor had been <em>very</em> grateful. His youngest Archangel was getting stir crazy and with that, everyone else was going crazy with him, it was a lesson that was always learned at the expense of others, but it was best to ensure His Messenger did not get cabin fever.</p><p>Pulling Michael from the cage hadn’t been an easy task, there was much damage that needed fixed from his extended stay in there, and even still he would be at His side for some time to come, frightened of being on his own. Michael was really in no shape to be going to war, but they were scraping the bottom of the barrel here, and so long as the Archangel didn’t wander too far from His side, he should be okay.</p><p>And then, of course, there was Lucifer, no explanation needed for that one. Let it not be said that one couldn’t hold a grudge for eternities, one could, his name was Lucifer. He was full of so much anger and so much rage, that it was dangerous, but could be used to their advantage, no matter how much he hated Him, he loathed His Sister so much more.</p><p>Gabriel raised his hand slightly, and God heaves a sigh, they had only been together for about half a week now, and already, He could feel a headache forming. “Yes, Gabriel?”</p><p>The Messenger looked between himself and his, rather noticeably, <em>two </em>older brothers, and then back to his Father. “Umm, Dad, I don’t want to be the one to call out the flaws in Your plan here, but, well, <em>last time </em>it took <em>four </em>of us, and I’m only counting <em>three</em>, we appear to be <em>one </em>short.”</p><p>Cue a pointed look in Castiel’s direction, Dean Winchester made a noise as he jumped to the Seraph’s defense in a second’s notice, when the younger angel looked down to his shoes in shame. There had not been left that He could salvage from what had been left of His Healer’s grace, Castiel had destroyed him from a grace make up, and there was no time to gather what was left and remake what wasn’t.</p><p>“Hey! If you guys hadn’t—”</p><p>“Dean.” He shakes His head, now was not the time, there was no time to rehash old fires. What happened to Raphael was unfortunate, and He planned on bringing His third born back, but later, when there was more time to do so.</p><p>But, Gabriel did make a fair point, it had taken <em>four </em>of them last time.</p><p>He did not want to have to pull <em>him </em>into this, this wasn’t his fight, and he shouldn’t have to fight a war he had not part in being in. He was still so young, and He’d promised Raphael to leave him be, to ensure his safety, to ensure not a hair on his head was harmed, and, honestly, He loathed to bring him back for him to find out what He’d put his only son through, Raphael could be <em>terrifying </em>when someone tempted his temper, and putting his the boy in unnecessary danger was most certainly something that would tempt his temper.</p><p>But they needed <em>four </em>Archangels, and if they couldn’t have four Archangels, they would just have to use the next best thing, and hope beyond hope that nothing came to harm him.</p><p>It was wrong of Him to back on His word to His son, but they were at a dead end, a stalemate, and needed to have all hands one deck for this fight. Bringing him in like this would make this already tense situation even worse, having to ensure the boy made it out of this alive, but his power and strength was almost as absolute as Raphael’s had been.</p><p>They would need him if they wanted a chance to win this fight against His Sister.</p><p>“Who is going to replace Raphael?” Michael intones as though Dean Winchester was not having a conniption, and the elephant in the room hadn’t been mentioned.</p><p>God scrubs a hand over His face, pulling at His well-trimmed beard lightly, and nodded to Himself, they had no other choice. “<em>He</em> will.”</p><p>“Who” Lucifer tilted his head in confusion, and as if on cue, there was a door that opened from down the hall, footsteps echoed in the silence that filled the room, and a shadow turned the corner a second before he did. He smiles over His shoulder at him, waving him over encouragingly, the crossed the room silently, taking in everything as he did.</p><p>The three Archangels straightened, staring at the boy, skin the color of rick milk chocolate, dark curls hanging wildly over his head, bright electric-blue eyes stared back them in return, the resemblance was uncanny. He was not Raphael, surely not, but he sure felt like him, shared many of his features. There was a rolling of grace and a soul under his skin, bright, staticy, like Raphael’s, wild and untamed, but at the same time, controlled. It was so familiar.</p><p>He came to stand at Father’s side, staring back at them with scrutiny, it reminded them all of their late brother.</p><p>Castiel stood from his stool, staring at the boy just as the Archangels were, Sam and Dean didn’t seem to understand this turn of events, and why everyone was reacting in the manner they were. They couldn’t see what they saw.</p><p>God smiles down at him, curling a hand over his shoulder. “This is Isaiah.” The boy waved slightly. “He’s your nephew.”</p><p>The child nods. “Call me <em>‘Isa’</em>.”</p><p>…</p><p>“Grandfather?” The boy spoke up after a long period of silence, his voice soft, inquisitive as he stared at the people in front of him, something about them seemed familiar, but he couldn’t place it, and he turned to peer up at his Grandfather questioningly. He had not met many angels, dad had kept him well protected, away from their inquisitive gazes, Grandfather was the only other one who knew of him, for obvious reasons. “Who are they?”</p><p>He smiles down at the boy, guilt gnawing at Him as he looked up at Him like he was, he looked <em>so</em> much like his father did, it makes His heart ache. The boy was near identical to Raphael, when he had been this age, even down to the simplest detail, the bright blue eyes, that hadn’t faded to emerald green until he’d grown older, bright blue eyes that seemed to exude light, the smile, the curls, he looked so much like his father.</p><p>“<em>Grandfather?” </em>Gabriel spoke up before He was able to, looking at Him in similar fashion, golden eyes wide at the name. “Why did he call You <em>‘Grandfather’</em>?”</p><p>Lucifer crossed his arms as it seemed to finally dawn on him. “Our <em>nephew</em>?”</p><p>Michael remained silent, his expression spoke louder then words, he had liked to think they had been close, Raphael and him, and yet, the knowledge of this child had never been shared between them. It made him wonder on just how much he truly knew about his younger brother, just how much he <em>thought </em>he knew, and how close they really truly were. Clearly, none of them had known of the boy’s existence, not even Gabriel, whom had once been so close to the Healer, and that made him feel just a tad bit better, that he was not the only one their brother didn’t trust enough with such an important secret.</p><p>Raphael was quiet, he was not known to share his doings with most anybody, preferring to stay to himself and his healers, and keep his secrets with a certain few, he was not known to be very open when it came to matters that rested so close to his heart. But, as brothers, he liked to think that they had a certain privilege to not be excluded from such things, such as having a <em>nephew</em>. Perhaps a fledgling was just what they needed, to bind them together again, to begin to fill that gap that had wedged it’s way into their once unbreakable bond.</p><p>But they hadn’t known <em>this </em>secret, he clearly hadn’t trusted them with it, and He felt bad for breaking such trust that had been placed on Him, even though it was a tad unwillingly, by bringing the boy into this fight. But there was really no other choice, so if He had to burn a few bridges for the greater scheme of things, then that was something He would have to deal with when it came time for Him to cross that river.</p><p>“Isa, these are your Uncles, your father’s brothers.” He gestured to the three Archangels before them, the boy nods, turning to look them over again. “Boys, this is your nephew, he is Raphael’s son.”</p><p>They fall silent, digesting this, not sure where to go with this new piece of information, with varying degrees of hurt, that they hadn’t been trusted enough with such knowledge, of having a young nephew to watch grow up. He really did share an uncanny resemblance with the Healer of Heaven; the way his eyes seemed to buzz with that raw blue electricity, the curls that bounced with every little movement, his facial features, even down to the tinies detail, such as the ring of silver that glistened in the lobe of the boy’s right ear, he was truly their brother’s son.</p><p>“Do you have your father’s bow?”</p><p>Isa nods, pulling the legendary weapon from over his shoulder, hidden wherever it was that Archangels kept their weapons when the weren’t using them. Michael felt his heart constrict painfully at the sight of the curved wood, runes carved in the handle, remembering the day they had crafted it together, for the boy to have it cemented the fact that he was their kind.</p><p>Direct and blood.</p><p>“And, your father’s staff?”</p><p>He nods. “Yes, Grandfather.”</p><p>Gabriel whistled lowly. “Who would have thought that <em>stick in the mud </em>would have gotten it one with a human!” His default surprise setting was sarcasm. Though he spoke to the room at large, his eyes never strayed from the Nephilim before them. “I’ve seen <em>everything</em>.”</p><p>The boy turns to look at him, his eyes glowing brightly, thundering with anger, it appears, as unfortunate as it was, that he had inherited his father’s temper. “Who would have thought an <em>Archangel </em>would go <em>whoring </em>around with pagans?”</p><p>Lucifer smiles at the sharp retort, his tone taking on a hard edge, sharp, a warning, that he was not something to be trifled with, the same way Raphael’s did when he was irritated by something. “Who was your mother, boy?”</p><p>In a flash, a breath of a moment, there was an Archangel blade under his chin, tip resting against his throat, the blue eyes swirling with unfathomable power, a rage building within them, that made him register that he had touched a sore spot by that name. “<em>Don’t</em> call me that.” He presses the blade in harsher, and he feels blood drip down his neck, and he swallowed thickly, though he was older then his brother, Nephilim could easily surpass their parent’s power, and even then, even he wouldn’t want to incite his younger brother’s temper. “My name is not <em>‘boy’, </em>my name is <em>‘Isaiah’, </em>you can call me <em>‘Isa’</em>. But never, <em>never </em>call me boy.” He answered his question though, glaring at him, his eyes blazing with his anger. “My mother was an Egyptian <em>slave</em>.”</p><p>Lucifer nods, his lips forming a slight smirk, and with a quick movement, disarmed the boy in one swift motion. The Nephilim followed the movements fluidly, as if it were a dance to be followed, and pulled his arm back around his back, yanking him down, another blade pressed up under his chin, and Michael hummed in approval.</p><p>“You were taught well.”</p><p>Isa glares at them, releasing the Morningstar, kicking him between the shoulders as he walked forward, to return to his Grandfather’s side. “My father knew his brothers <em>well.”  </em>Well, if they weren’t hurt before, they most certainly were now. “And, what they would think to do to his <em>abomination</em>.”</p><p>Michael didn’t respond at the accusation, any time before, he most probably would have thought something along those lines, and found that he couldn’t blame his brother for keeping this from him, in the end. He’s not sure what he would have done, had he met the young Nephilim, had he learned of his existence before this, and it made him more relieved to know he was not given the opportunity to find out.</p><p>He could remember the extermination of the other Nephilim, a era in time that he tried to forget, listening to the crying and pleas for mercy from them as they were cut down. They had all been following orders, of course, but that was no excuse, they had wiped out an entire race on the inclination of what they had the capability to do when they were fully grown. It was said, once fully grown, a Nephilim had the possibility to surpass their angelic parent in power and strength.</p><p>“Father?” God turns to look at His oldest Archangel at his inquiry. “You had us wipe out the Nephilim race. Why is this one different?”</p><p>If he had any opinions on the rest of his race being struck down in such a gruesome manner, the boy did not vocalize them, instead, looking down to the pendant he wore around his neck, holding it in his hand tightly, they recognized it, it was Raphael’s, he’d worn it for as long as they can remember.</p><p>“It was an error in judgement that will <em>never</em> be made again.” He nods to the boy, who tucks the pendant back under his shirt, and slouches inwards, tucking his hands in his hoodie pocket. “And, your brother would <em>undoubtedly </em>find a way to <em>kill </em>Me if I took his son from him.”</p><p>Father cut in before anyone could speak another piece and clapped His hands to gain the others attention once more, "Back to business now that introductions had been made. My Sister will not stop devouring this universe until it is gone, or She is stopped, preferably the latter than the former, I am fond of this world and the people in it."</p><p>Lucifer gestured to his newfound nephew, "I don't understand how the Nephilim is going to serve as an equal replacement for Raphael."</p><p>"That Nephilim is <em>right </em>here you know."</p><p>He silenced them both with a well-directed look, "He is only to get involved when the need arises to lock Her back in the ether. " He glanced at His only living grandson. "I will not put his life at risk in such a manner as to allow him to stand at the front." He was quick to sooth when the boy gave Him an affronted look. "Not that I doubt you would be able to hold your own. I promised your father to ensure you weren't brought to harm and you are the youngest in our grand family, it is something you will just have to get used to from here on, it will not be the first time you will be subjected to this treatment."</p><p>Isa nods mutely.</p><p>Sam raises his hand slightly, and everyone’s attention turns to the young hunter, he blushes lightly when he took in all the eyes, and at the concept of interrupting a moment that was clearly no place for him to be involved. It was not every day that someone learned that they had a nephew, and from looking at the three remaining archangels, he knew they were still trying to wrap their minds around it all. It was a lot to take in, and to have him so young, it was not an ideal solution to the problem.</p><p>But it was not an ideal problem either.</p><p>"Yes, Sam?"</p><p>The hunter nodded at being addressed to say his piece, if they were all to act as a team then they all should have their piece known. "You said '<em>fill in</em>', insinuating that you intend to bring Raphael back?"</p><p>"I do. My strength is not at its peak at the moment and unlike angels it takes more than a few strokes of the ether and grace to bring back an archangel. They are made of more than that. Being the four Elements means there is more to then then meets the eyes. I intend to bring him back, but it will take time that we don't necessarily have to make him strong enough to take a corporal form."</p><p>“But, can’t you just, give him a boost?” The others look curious at this question. “I mean…..You’re God.”</p><p>“You could.” Isa speaks up softly, looking down to his dark green hightops, kicking his foot slightly. “You could bring him back, right now, you just don’t want to.”</p><p>“Isa—”</p><p>“No, I get it, he’s not your <em>favorite</em>.” He looks up and sneers at the Morningstar slightly. “That’s <em>Lucifer</em>.”</p><p>“Isa, I—”</p><p>He grits his teeth for a moment, before straightening up, turning to look at his Grandfather, He turns to face him. “I’ve been without my dad for four years, because of <em>him</em>,” he makes a heated gesture to the Seraph and silences Dean Winchester with a dangerous glare before returning his attention to his Grandfather. “He’s the <em>only </em>one I had left, and you won’t give him back, if you won’t give me something I want, give me <em>one</em> good reason <em>why</em> I should give you something you want.”</p><p>He takes a deep breath. “Because, it’s something your father would have wanted.”</p><p>The Nephilim glares at Him, a truly hateful glare, and they watch, in stunned silence, as he reels his arm back, and punches God in the face. He yelps, there’s a loud crack, and He curls His hands around His bleeding nose. The other Archangels stare at him in mystified horror, but Isa ignores them, poking a finger in the primordial deity’s chest harshly. “Don’t even <em>pretend </em>to know what my dad would have wanted.”</p><p>Michael’s mouth hangs ajar, and turns from his Father, to his brother’s Nephilim. “Have you a <em>death wish</em>!” He sounds completely flabbergasted. “To punch <em>God </em>in the face!”</p><p>He turns, thrusting a finger at him. “I’d punch <em>you </em>in the face if you made up some bullshit about my dad too!”</p><p>He huffs softly as He heals His broken nose, deciding, for the time being, they’ll all just pretend that this hadn’t just happened.</p><p>Isa falls back, a scowl marring his features, stuffing his hands back in his pocket, mumbling under his breath in Arabic, stepping back to lean against the table.</p><p>"I intend to bring him back. But it will take time to gather the pieces of his grace and patch it back together."</p><p>Castiel looked down to his feet, and then back up defiantly when a look was sent his way, he refused to be downed by thrown accusations, killing the Archangel had been for the greater good and that's all that mattered.</p><p>While the other Archangels and Father were distracted talking battle plans, from over His shoulder, he could see the glare that the archangel Nephilim sent his way, and, admittedly, he felt chills run down his spine.</p><p>…</p><p>"And who might this wee lad be?"</p><p>Rowena and Crowley had joined them later on, hiding their surprise at the unknown boy sitting at His left, looking up curiously at them as they entered and took their seats. The witch eyed him in equal amounts of curiosity, he was young, the youngest angel in the room, and held more power than the pestering little Seraph, but not as much as the Archangels did.</p><p>He met her gaze coolly. "He is my grandson."</p><p>Her eyes widened in surprise and she smiled in pure feeling, "He's lovely. We're more than glad to have him aboard with us."</p><p>Crowley seemed less pleased then his mother did, appraising the boy with a quick look, averting his gaze away when he caught sight of the three Archangels looking at him with something akin to a silent threat from the corner of his eye. He was only here because if the world was devoured then that meant he had no throne to control. Perhaps, he could use the boy to ensure Lucifer didn't come demanding his throne back once this was all over. It was a thought he would keep in the back of his mind for now, to himself, ignoring the looks he was getting from the boy's uncles, he smiled a smile that had made him the King of Crossroads.</p><p>"Welcome, boy, to the party."</p><p>He bristled at being called '<em>boy'</em>, but settled under a calming hand being placed on his shoulder, God smiled down at him comfortingly, delegated everyone's position and they were dismissed quickly. Rowena smiled at the boy sweetly before disappearing a small puff of rose-colored smoke. Crowley gave him a calculating look before he too made his leave.</p><p>He pulled something from His pocket, a small glowing orb the size of a half dollar, humming like electricity flowing down an electrical line connecting two poles together on the side of the street. Isaiah looked at the orb with wide eyes, as though it were communicating with him, and looked up to his Grandfather in confusion.</p><p>"I thought you said you couldn't do it now?"</p><p>Sam and Dean looked at the orb in wonder, looking towards their angel friend to see if he knew what it was, not liking that he was suddenly on edge at the mere sight of it. Whatever it was wasn't good if it had him reacting like that, though God creating something that would be against them seemed unlikely to happen at a time like this, it didn’t stop them from watching it cautiously, just in case. He held out His hand for the Nephilim, and Isa reaches out slowly, almost as though he was unsure, and the glowing light swirled from the Creators palm up and around their closed hands, and curled around the Nephilim's wrist.</p><p>"I said I couldn't bring him back completely in one swoop, not that I wouldn't begin the process, I thought it appropriate that he be with you."</p><p>The other Archangels closed in around his shoulders, looking from over them at the flowing grace that curled up his arm, and down into the pendant he wore around his neck. Isaiah smiled at the warmth that spread through him as the emerald pulsed softly.</p><p>"Does he…?"</p><p>"It is not possible for one to forget their own son."</p><p>He curls his hand around the emerald pendant. "I missed you too, dad."</p><p>…</p><p>They were left alone to themselves as the Winchesters and their pet angel went off to deal with some hunt somewhere in some town not too far away from them and Father went to collect more pieces of Raphael's grace from where it lay spread in the ether. The only one the ball of grace spoke to was his son, and it brought out something a bit lighter in the closed off Nephilim; it had zapped the Seraph rather harshly when he had dared to question the Nephilim's integrity when it came to his father’s attempts to restart the end of times.</p><p>There was clear animosity between the two of them that was closely monitored.</p><p>The moment of their own to do with what they wanted was taken to trying to get to know their nephew. Gabriel was stretched out beside him, an arm stretched over the back of the couch, around his shoulders. Lucifer was lounging in a chair across from him, one arm bent upwards, fingers twirling a random coin between them. Michael was leaning forward on a table, arms crossed in front of him, the three of them watching their nephew carefully.</p><p>"So how old are you, kiddo?"</p><p>Their nephew looked over to the Messenger, his curls hanging in his face over his eyes, and bright blue met gold, "Sixteen." His uncle whispered and the other two adjusted slightly in their positions, "You're just a youngin', aren't you?"</p><p>Michael leaned back in his seat, rubbing a hand over his chin, "How old are you on the celestial side?"</p><p>Isa looked to the ceiling as if counting in his head, "two hundred and…Sixteen?"</p><p>Again, the Messenger whistled, looking down to his lap for a minute. The older two Archangels shuffled again, turning to exchange a glance between them, it wasn't often they did so anymore, but was one of those moments where they couldn't help themselves. Isaiah watched them quietly, as his oldest uncle rubbed a hand over his eyes and leaned further back in his chair.</p><p>"You are barely a fledgling."</p><p>"I'm almost grown."</p><p>Lucifer waved the comment away for his hand, curling his fingers around the coin and let his arm drop, "No you're not. Barely a fledgling and He wants to have you fight at our side against our evil Aunt."</p><p>"I can do it!"</p><p>Finally the Messenger chimed back in, "But you shouldn't. Besides," he motioned to the pulsing emerald around his young neck, “Your dad would kill us if anything were to happen to you.”</p><p>…</p><p>When he failed to show up to dinner, He went to find him, humming as He walked down the hall that His grandson had claimed his room in. The door was cracked, and from within He could hear the soft pleadings from the familiar voice, He pushed the door open a bit more and leaned against the door frame to watch.</p><p>Despite his odd change of circumstance, His third born son had still managed to make his son squirm, laid on his bed and arms curled around his midsection, his cheeks were reddened from the exertion of the unseen torment, as he lay on his side squirming on his bed. He pleaded softly for his parent's mercy which appeared to be in short supply, as he jolted where he lay and turned over onto his back, throwing his head back with a soft shriek as he curled his arms around himself tighter.</p><p>He knocked on the wooden door frame, and His grandson's head turned to Him quickly, reaching out a hand for Him, "Grandfather, help me!" to which He chuckled and shook His head after a moment, "I don't think so. You've been a grump recently. I think My son is remedying the situation rather nicely." He watched the boy for a few moments longer, and turned, shaking His head, making His leave. “I’ll save you some supper. Get him good son.”</p><p>“Betrayed by my own blood!”</p><p>…</p><p>"I'm not going to fight with him at my side."</p><p>Isa finally allowed the tension to overcome him, glaring at the one who had taken his father from him, fists clenching at his sides as the emerald pendant around his neck glowed softly, as though it was trying to calm his frayed nerves, but it made no difference in the grand scheme. Castiel met his glare, raising his chin slightly in defiance, refusing to feel remorse for something he knew was for the best. The boy was too younger to understand the things that needed to be done to ensure the greater good was followed through and would someday come to understand as to why it must have happened.</p><p>"It was for the greater good."</p><p>"You <em>killed </em>my <em>dad!"</em></p><p>They watched the argument as though it were a tennis match, moving from one to the other and back, as they replied to one another, He wanted to intervene but wasn't sure where He was meant to. This was something that the boy was allowed, as it was his family that had been attacked, though for the best of intentions, it didn't make Him any happier that one son had killed the other.</p><p>"<em>Who's</em> greater good?" Isa stepped forward and the Seraph pulled his blade free at the threatening step, beside Him, the three archangels tensed, as though preparing to come to their young nephews defense. "<em>Yours</em>? I've heard of your <em>preconceived</em> idea of the '<em>greater good</em>' which just so happens to <em>coincide</em> with what your humans need."</p><p>"They were defending the Earth from the threat of the apocalypse."</p><p>Dean inflated slightly and Sam folded in own himself.</p><p>"No offense to my Uncle, but it would never have happened if your human had been stronger, I've heard his favorite word is ‘<em>no’</em>. he is strong and intelligent enough to know when he is being misguided, supposedly, though given the evidence pointing to the opposite, I guess that is giving him more credit than he deserves."</p><p>Lucifer waved the unspoken apology away. "None taken."</p><p>The older hunter looked like he wanted to come to his brother’s defense, and opened his mouth to do just that, but was halted by the Nephilim pointing a finger at him and the light bulb behind him shattering, electricity arcing from the open circuit.</p><p>"You've got <em>no</em> room to defend him, you’re both too pigheaded, thinking it’s your way or highway. You think you are the <em>heroes</em> of the world because you’ve had to <em>clean up</em> the messes <em>you</em> cause. Which <em>I’m</em> now here doing for you, we’re <em>all</em> doing for you, Death <em>warned</em> you about her, he did, I <em>know</em> he did. You don’t <em>save</em> jack shit, you <em>just</em> clean up the messes you make, that’s <em>all</em> you do! My <em>dad </em>is dead because of one of your messes! <em>He</em> was <em>all</em> I had <em>left,</em> and you <em>took</em> him from me!"</p><p>"Hey, kid, our dad is dead too! We know what tha-"</p><p>"You know nothing! You’re full of shit! My dad was killed by someone who got to walk free. You got vengeance for your dad's death, and yet I must sit here, and fight alongside the one responsible for mines?" The Nephilim shook his head. "No. I’m here for myself, I’m here for me, I fight for me. I’m only here because if I help then I get my dad back. I would sooner see you destroyed or devoured then to see myself defending you. It is said that all must come to answer for their crimes and if my Grandfather won't put it upon you then I will. I will stand for family, but you, <em>murderer</em>, are not in mine." He sits back in between his two older Uncles, arms crossing over his chest, looking at every one of them, daring anyone to rebuff the refusal. Michael and Lucifer looked down between them at the young Nephilim, pride evident in their expressions at him standing his position, they were no fans of the young Seraph, for obvious reasons, and thought it was time that someone stood against him. To the Morningstar's left, the Messenger, who had once claimed charge over Castiel, whistled softly and nodded his head.</p><p>"Well-spoken kiddo."</p><p>…</p><p>Over the following weeks of their planning and staging for the fight, they had grown to know their young nephew more; learning of his culture and where he was brought up, how their brother was as a father, where his favorite places to go were, his favorite foods, music, anything and everything that others would even think to be mundane given their positions as Archangels. But this young fledgling was the youngest member of their flock, and their only nephew, they wanted to learn as much about him as they could.</p><p>And in return he asked them questions.</p><p>What Heaven was like before the fall?</p><p>What his father had been like?</p><p>What their favorite creation was?</p><p>They exchanged details about each other until they knew even the silliest of little things. It brought a spark back to the Messenger’s eyes, hearing of the pranks that had been played against his older brother, by his own child no less.</p><p>It brought a smile back to Michael's features, when he began to search them out, instead of staying to his Grandfathers side he ventured to theirs.</p><p>It brought a forgotten warmth to the frozen Morningstar when his fledgling nephew asked him his opinions, and shared those of his own, taking what he had to say without scorn.</p><p>It was something they knew their brother would be relieved of, knowing that his brothers wouldn't immediately come to the notion of trying to harm the boy for his mere existence alone, and even began to grow fond of him.</p><p>Things had begun to settle down, Isa growing more comfortable when it came to being around his uncles, and the Archangels at the aspect of having a nephew to guide and protect, when the self-proclaimed King of Hell returned.</p><p>Isa had turned into his room, humming under his breath much like his father did, to fill in the silence, when the door slammed shut behind him. Eyes wide, the young Nephilim turned to try and pull it back open, only to find that it wouldn't budge or give.</p><p>A throat cleared from behind him, and he turned to be met by the demon that he had seen during the last meeting earlier that week, he stepped forward cockily and circled around him.</p><p>"That idiot of an Archangel has grown fond of you."</p><p>"Don't talk about my Uncle that way. He's a better man then you could ever hope to be."</p><p>Despite his predicament, the Healer's son was never known to back down from an opponent, something his mother and father had once tried to rid him of before giving up and turning to scolding him when he returned.</p><p>"A fledgling Nephilim like yourself would be a key piece in securing my position on the throne." He reached forward to grab him. "Now, it’s nothing personal but we all must do what we have to." And his fingers closed around his shoulder.</p><p>The pendant resting under his shirt burned against his skin, burned brighter than it ever had before, and the demon's eyes widened in surprise, before he was suddenly thrown back. He crashed loudly into the wall behind him, denting the cement and chipping the brick. Crowley shook his head, waving the dust out of his face, and glanced back up at his intended bargaining chip.</p><p>His eyes widened at the figure that stood in front of him, hand raised out before them, blue sparks snapping off their figure.</p><p>An ethereal form of the boy’s father stood guard in front of him, not a solid figure, but still packing enough of a punch to throw him through a wall as he had. His body was made of electricity, volts swirling around bright arms and legs, eyes glowing bright blue, his arm outstretched.</p><p>The door was thrown open and a gasp had the three of them turning, they gathered in the doorway, Archangel blades drawn, guns cocked, ready to jump in at a moment's notice, and they all stopped a breath to stare wide eyed at the figure that stood before the Nephilim boy. He smiled at the others, gently resting a pulsing hand on the boys curls, volts bounced from the ends and he looked up to meet the glowing eyes. The hand moved down to caress his cheek, warm and tingly against his skin, before the being flickered and faded and the pendant pulsed once before falling dim again. He stared at it as his Uncles filed into the room, Michael lifting the daring demon up by the throat, the other two flanking the young boy's sides protectively.</p><p>The Morningstar was a cool presence over his left shoulder, "Crowley, I believe with Father off doing whatever it is He does during these moments, that we should finally bring up the matter at hand. Including your ill-conceived plan to come after my <em>nephew</em>."</p><p>…</p><p>Isa dodged under flying debris and tendrils of darkness, his Uncles and Grandfather fighting off the mass of swirling Darkness above him, he looked around, he needed a higher vantage, he couldn’t see the weak spots from down below, he needed a higher vantage point. Eyes roaming over the room they’d taken in this abandoned factory, it was a strange thing, choosing this as the battleground, but he wasn’t here to judge, too much, to their faces.</p><p>He was totally judging them in his mind though.</p><p>Totally.</p><p>
  <em>There. </em>
</p><p>He looks up, his head tilted back, staring up at the beams, that was high enough. He just had to get up there, unnoticed by anyone, and wait for his signal.</p><p>Darting across the factory floor, he climbs up a ladder leading up the wall, darting over that catwalk, he climbs that ladder. He stares at the beam across from him, carefully, he climbs up on the guard rail, balancing on the top, he curls his fingers around the beam, and carries himself away from the edge, swinging himself from side to side, he builds up enough momentum to curl his leg around the top of the beam, and he carefully swings himself up. Staring down at the floor, he briefly wonders if he could die if he falls from this height, if he did, and he met his dad in the afterlife, he’d kill his dead self again for being so reckless.</p><p>Pushing that frightening thought to the back of his mind, he carefully rises, balancing on the beam, he holds his arms out to steady himself, he walks carefully down the length of the beam, wobbling only a little, his life flashing before his eyes as he did, before he turns, standing above the swirling mass, he can see it, it’s weak point, he can see <em>Her</em>, battling against his Grandfather equally matched.</p><p>If he pushed, and I mean <em>really </em>pushed, he could be just as strong as Him.</p><p>He meets his Grandfather’s eyes, and sees Him nod his head, and he nods himself, closing his eyes, and <em>pulls</em>. He feels himself heating up, and when he opens his eyes, his hands are encased in electricity, he can hear the rain thundering on the ceiling above him, the wind howling above them, he can <em>feel </em>the bolts of lightning flashing across the sky, charging at the beck and call of the son of the Storm Bringer, the thunder rumbles loudly around them, shaking the factory slightly with every crack. He stares down at his Great Aunt, focusing on her, as he turns his hands palm up, and slowly raises them, the wind outside picks up howling loudly, it sounds like the engine of a train, sirens blare in the distance, and he ignores it all raising his hands slowly, and looks up when the roof of the factory is torn off, lightning arcs across the sky, rain pelts down on them in currants, and he turns his attention back to his Great Aunt, still too busy fighting his Grandfather to notice, but they others aren’t he sees them, sees them staring.</p><p>They watch on baited breath as the glow around the young Nephilim intensifies, his eyes glowing as bright as the cracks of lightning above them, and he raises his hand above his head, fingers spread open. The clouds churn with light, and a massive bolt of lightning erupts from within, it crashes into him, illuminating him, sparks raining down on them, and slowly, in his hand, the end of the bolt solidifies, he bends at the knee slightly, and they yell when he jumps from the high support beam, the force from the jump sends him flying over the two primordial beings, he turns slightly, reeling his arm back, the bolt’s power in his hand charging substantially, and he throws it, like a javelin, they watch it as it flies through the air, as Father ducks under His Sister, pulling Her attention around with Him, and He cuts into the ether, creating a wormhole in space-time. She screams when the supercharged bolt slams into Her back, throwing Her forward, catching Her off guard, She falls forward into the wormhole, screaming the whole way, and he watches as Grandfather seals the hole, and returns his attention to the fact that he’s currently <em>tumbling through the air</em>.</p><p>His Uncles are yelling his name, as though <em>that’s </em>helping the matter at hand, and he watches as the cement floor slowly grows closer and closer, and he forces himself around, he doesn’t want to see it, he clenches his eyes shut, waiting for him to crack, he wonders if it’s going to hurt, <em>of course it is, Isa, what a stupid question</em>, and imagines his dad’s face, his dad being there, the last he wants to see is his dad.</p><p>
  <em>I never got to get him back.</em>
</p><p>He huffs a scream when he lands, tensing, expecting the pain to come. “That was mighty impressive, Isa, I think that’s the first Superbolt you’ve ever created.” His mind vaguely registers that there is <em>no </em>pain, that someone is <em>holding </em>him, and that he <em>knows </em>that voice. That deep voice that scolds him when he does something stupid, which he does frequently, let what just happened be an example, that laughs when he tells <em>horrible </em>jokes, that calms him when he has nightmares about <em>that </em>time, he <em>knows </em>that deep voice. “Open your eyes, child, I’ve got you.”</p><p>The Nephilim’s eyes fly open, he looks down first, at the dark arms holding him up, he’s been caught in a cradle, then he looks up, into those warm sparkling emerald eyes. “Dad?” He smiles down at him. “Dad!” He jerks, his dad grunts as he elbows him in the stomach, and he falls slightly, curling his arms around his neck, curling around him like a koala. “Dad, I missed you <em>so </em>much!”</p><p>Arms curl around him, around his back, and he hears his dad’s deep chuckles. “I missed you too, my little one.”</p><p>“But,” he tightens his grip, he feels the undercurve of his dad’s cheek rubbing against the side of his forehead, he doesn’t quite understand. “I don’t get it, Grandfather said He couldn’t bring you back yet.”</p><p>“He didn’t bring me back, Isa.” A large hand curls around the back of his head. “You did.”</p><p><em>“What?” </em>Isa pulls away slightly, looking into his father’s eyes, not understanding. “<em>I </em>brought you back?”</p><p>Raphael smiles at the boy in his arms, nodding slightly, leaning in to press their foreheads together. “Yes, when you called on the Superbolt, you pulled at my grace, let us say, when the bolt charged you, it charged my grace in your pendant, and with that strength, I was able to pull myself together.” He leans in to brush their noses together lightly. “Imagine my horror, when I finally got here, watching my only son jumping off of that high beam. It took years off my life. You’re grounded.”</p><p>“Aww, dad, I just helped save the world!”</p><p>“Yes, and the world’s savior is <em>grounded</em>.”</p><p>Isa stares at him for a long minute, he stares back, and the teenager shrugs, curling himself around his dad again, pressing himself as close as he can, listening to his dad and Uncles reunite with one another</p><p>
  <em>Eh, sometimes it just be like that.</em>
</p>
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<a name="section0053"><h2>53. Late Night Pick Up</h2></a>
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    <p>“Okay, kid, come make your call.”</p><p>He nods, waiting for them to unlock the holding cell, and steps out once the door is open. He makes his way over to the phone on the sergeant’s desk, looking up at him for permission, and nods when the sergeant nods, reaching for the receiver, he dials the number he knows by heart, and holds the receiver to his ear.</p><p>It rings.</p><p>And rings.</p><p>And rings.</p><p>He flinches at the deep voice that answers. “Hey, dad, I uumm….I need you to come pick me up.”</p><p>There’s silence on the other end and then that deep voice, harsher then it was before, intones it’s question.</p><p>He rubs at the back of his head. “I’ve…Uhh….I’ve been arrested.” He nods, looking down at his shoes, the color draining from his face. “Yessir.” The line on the other end cuts off, and he inhales deeply, setting the receiver back on the base.</p><p>The sergeant smiles up at him. “Dad coming to get you, Isa?”</p><p>“Yea, Sergeant Johnson, dad’s coming to get me.” He shivers slightly. “Honestly, I think I’d rather stay here.”</p><p>“From the way he sounded, kid, I don’t blame you.”</p><p>…</p><p>He sits in the holding cell, twiddling his thumbs, chancing a glance up at the clock, three am. He looks over when he hears the door open, sergeant Johnson greets them, and he stands to see who it is, flinching back when he sees the harsh glare sent his way.</p><p>“Here for your boy, Mr. Mostafa?”</p><p>“Yes,” he shivers at the iciness in his deep voice. “What was it this time?”</p><p>“Driving while intoxicated.”</p><p>Those green eyes meet his again, and he gulps, backing up a step. “Thank you, Sergeant, I apologize for the trouble he’s caused you.”</p><p>“Not a problem,” the Sergeant turns away from the counter, and he feels as though he’s safer going to jail, then he is going with <em>him</em>. Johnson unlocks the door to the holding cell, and motions him out, closing it once he steps out silently. “Have a good night, Isaiah.”</p><p>“You too, cofficer.”</p><p>Isa follows after his dad timidly, stuffing his hands in his pockets, they walk in silence down the street, normally, he’d say something, but this time, this time the best course of action is to stay silent. They step into an alley, and his dad turns to look down at him, holding his hands out, knowing the drill already, he steps forward, hopping up when those hands curl around his middle, lifting him up off his feet. Curling around him, his arms around his neck, his legs around his waist, he watches him roll his shoulders, and six massive emerald green wings unfold, spreading slightly, a hand curls around the back of his head, his dad bends at the knee slightly, and rockets them into the night sky. He rests his chin on his shoulder, his cheek pressed against the side of his neck, as they ascend through the clouds, towards the barrier between the two planes. The Nephilim closes his eyes as they break through the barrier, listening to the buzz of his dad’s grace under his skin, feeling his hand still curled around the back of his head.</p><p>He sees his impending doom closing in, in the form of the Villa, and he feels it when his dad lands, he rolls his shoulders again, tucking his wings back in, and sets him on his feet. Not a word is said, as the Archangel holds the door open, gesturing for him to enter, and he does, as tense as a spring, kicking his shoes off and pushing them over to rest with the others, he looks over when a large dark hand curls over his shoulder, guiding him forward, towards the hall, and he feels dread settle inside him when they turn the corner, into the room, and the doors closed behind him with a soft click.</p><p>“Get ready for bed, Isaiah.”</p><p>The boy nods silently, stepping forward, tugging his shirt up over his head, and his jeans down, he reaches into his dad’s wardrobe for one of his shirts, he likes sleeping in his dad’s shirts, it makes him feel safe. He pulls the too big shirt over his head, deposits his clothes in the hamper, and returns to standing in front of his father.</p><p>“Get the belt.”</p><p>Gulping silent, he nods again, stepping around him for the closet, and pulls the door open so he can reach inside. Just inside, hanging on a hook, is an old leather belt, no longer in commission, his dad had a new belt, but this one, this is the one that’s used to wallop him.</p><p>He returns to his side and passes him the belt when he holds his hand out, turning when he nods to the bed. Isa lifts the back of the too big shirt, tugs his boxers down slightly, and stretches out over the edge of the bed, waiting anxiously for it, he knows it’s coming, but he doesn’t know when.</p><p>Raphael stares at his son, laying over the edge of the bed, and shakes his head, reeling his arm back. His child shrieks at the first of <em>many </em>lashes, landing with a solid crack against his bottom, and reels his arm back again.</p><p>Isa’s sobbing by the fifth one, and he doesn’t know <em>how </em>many there are going to be, it’s just crack after crack, shriek after shriek, sob after sob. After what feels like an eternity, his butt is on fire, the last lash comes down, and he rubs at his face, sobbing into his hands.</p><p>“Go sit in the chair, Isaiah.”</p><p>He nods quickly, pushing himself up, darting over to the <em>dreaded </em>desk chair. Tears stream from his eyes as he watches his dad return the belt to the closet, and he rubs at them with his fists, squirming slightly.</p><p>“No squirming. Sit still.”</p><p>Biting his lip, the Nephilim nods, forcing himself to stop squirming, the hard-wooden chair pressing against his beaten bottom is <em>almost </em>as bad as the lashing itself, <em>almost</em>. He sits there for what feels like an hour, and he whines, looking up at his dad, whimpering when he shakes his head.</p><p>Raphael sits on the edge of his bed. “How many drinks did you have?”</p><p>“Twenty-four…Sir….”</p><p><em>“Twenty-four, </em>were your trying to make yourself <em>sick</em>?”</p><p>“N—No…”</p><p>Humming to himself, he stands, crossing over to his desk, leaning over the boy to reach into the cupboard above him. He sifts through a few vials, nods when he finds what he’s looking for, picks an empty syringe out of a small box, and closes the cupboard. Filling the syringe, he pulls the cap off the needle, and sticks it into the boy’s arm, Isa squeaks at the feeling, looking over as he pushes the stopper, injecting him with whatever was inside.</p><p>“Dad…Dad, what was that?”</p><p>The Healer caps the needle and sets both vial and syringe back on his desk, rubbing a band aid over the small dot of blood that bubbles on the boy’s upper arm. “Influenza.”</p><p>“<em>You gave me the flu!”</em></p><p>“If you want to make yourself sick, then I’ll assist you in this effort, as any good parent should.” Raphael holds a hand out to the boy. “You can stand.” Fingers curl around his hand and he pulls him up, nodding to the boy to lift his drawers back up, and opens his arms, into which, the Nephilim jumps. He lifts him off his feet, up into his arms, and the boy makes an apt impersonation of a baby koala, humming when he hears the boy mumble into his shoulder. “I know you’re sorry, it’s alright, we’ve dealt with it, it’s in the past, we shall talk about it no more.”</p><p>Isa whines softly, pressing his face into the side of his dad’s neck. “Daddy….I don’t feel good…”</p><p>He smiles slightly, rubbing a hand down the back of the boy’s head. “I know you don’t little one, don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.”</p>
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<a name="section0054"><h2>54. A Completely Normal Day</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The thing he liked most about second and third period, was the fact that it was a free period; a time for all the still sleepy students to catch up on their much desired slumber in the form of a power nap, or for those who’s first priority wasn’t the homework that was due that day, hadn’t completed it the night before, and had some catching up to do in that regard, there was little to no rules and no one talked too loud and Isa as able to curl his arms under his favorite fluffy hoodie and stuff his head in the thick fabric and fall into that peaceful realm of semi consciousness.</p><p>Jack and Danny were in this free period with him, sitting at his table, as was the rule, three kids to a table, mumbling softly to one another, as to not disturb their peaceful cousin across from them, as Jack played a game on his phone, and Danny copied down the notes he’d missed when he’d been out sick the previous two days from Isa’s notebook.</p><p>“You guys wanna have a video game marathon this weekend?” Isa turns to look up at them, his ear pressed to the back of his right hand. “I got the new Call Of Duty, the only way I’m allowed to kill people now, which is a bummer, but I promised dad.” Jack nodded immediately, he loved video game marathons, he never turned those down. Danny hesitated a moment though, looking up at him, tilting his head. “Can we play Animal Crossing too?”</p><p>“Dude, it’s not a video game marathon, if we <em>don’t </em>play Animal Crossing, I got some new villagers that I really want you guys to meet.”</p><p>Danny grins widely. “I’m in.”</p><p>The teenage son of the Healer nodded happily, turning back to hide his head in his hoodie pile, and exhaled softly. This was how free period worked, they chilled together, and Jack woke him up before the fourth period bell rang.</p><p>This day was going to be like any other, quiet and long, and then the weekend would start and they’d make their way home and settle in for a nice round of back to back video games, dragging Austin and Adam in with them, who came willingly, because, what kind of sensible teenager turns down playing Animal Crossing.</p><p>It was 8:36am on Friday, May 14, and everything was completely <em>normal</em>.</p><p>…</p><p>
  <em>‘911, what’s your emergency?’</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“There’s a guy here with a gun! There’s a guy here with a gun!”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>POP</em>
</p><p>
  <em>POP</em>
</p><p>
  <em>POP</em>
</p><p>
  <em>‘Ma’am? Ma’am?’</em>
</p><p>
  <em>BRRINNNNNGGGGGGGG</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Kids! Get under the tables! Kids get under the tables!”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>‘Ma’am what’s going on? What’s your name?’</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“My name is Sylvia Thomas, I’m the librarian! There’s a man here with a gun! I think he’s shooting students! Stay under the tables, stay down!”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>‘Ma’am stay calm, I’m here to help, what is your location?’</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“All Saints High School. Please hurry! It’s okay, it’s okay Jessica, everyone stay quiet.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>‘Ma’am I have help on the way, stay calm, keep them all calm, help is on the way. Stay with me. Stay with me, ma’am.’</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“He’s right there! He’s right outside! OH MY GOD HE SHOT THE GLASS! KIDS RUN! RUN!”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>POP</em>
</p><p>
  <em>POP</em>
</p><p>
  <em>POP POP</em>
</p><p>
  <em>‘Ma’am? Ma’am?’</em>
</p><p>
  <em>BRRRIIIIIINNNNNGGGGGGGG</em>
</p><p>
  <em>…</em>
</p><p>It's funny how a day so normal, like so many of its others, can turn so suddenly. Nothing seemed out of ordinary, cars of upperclassmen drove in late after morning free periods as they always did, the lone stragglers who weren't of such luck wasted time in getting that tardy pass, and a few odd ones finished off their cigarettes in the designated areas.</p><p>Everything was so.....<em>calm</em>.</p><p>Nobody noticed the beat-up car pulling in, there was plenty of them, though the school itself was of higher regard they were still teenagers living in Queens. Nobody spared it a second glance as it rattled and spat its way to a handicap parking spot near the front of the doors. Not an eye was batted as the driver stepped out, torn jeans tucked into thick combat boots, fingers peeking out of fingerless gloves, and the dark long coat worn over the faded stained t-shirt.</p><p>The school had kids from all crowds.</p><p>A hefty bag was thrown over a shoulder, a gym bag, a possible jock at the wheel. His face was hidden by long locks of dark hair, and a cap curved downward over his eyes, he slammed the door to his beater and stomped his way up the sidewalk.</p><p>One of the gangly smokers puffed his last puff, tossed the butt to the side, shoved his partner in return for whatever crude joke was muttered between them, and stepped forward to greet their visitor.</p><p>He stopped mid step, face morphing from one emotion to another, and behind him his friend yelled as the gym bag hit the ground with a loud thud.</p><p>Everything had <em>been </em>so calm, until it wasn't, and the first two were taken.</p><p>…</p><p>
  <em>“What, Gabriel, this better be important?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>He knew it must be important, for his brother to call him like this, the only reason they had these phones was to keep in contact with their children, and their school. Gabriel had been down on Earth, doing Father knows what, and none of them had really been curious enough to ask. Raphael frowns at the frantic rush on the other end of the line and held a hand up, Oren fell silent next to him, though he did look particularly annoyed at having been interrupted.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Gabriel, slow down, I can’t understand what you’re saying!” He presses his hand over his other ear to try and stop any outside noise. “There’s a what at where?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>He turned and bolted. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Raph?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>He was already out the door. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>…</em>
</p><p>They called her Ms. Wendy, the school's main office's secretary. A woman who had aged well in life, wrinkles present but not overbearingly so, hair a wonderous mix of blonde and silvering gray, who greeted students both on time and tardy with the same warm hazel eyes. She'd worked for the school for a number of years and was well known among staff and student body.</p><p>Her mornings consisted of writing up tardy passes and ensuring attendance, among other duties, making sure that the coffee pot was still warm, and her mug was always full.</p><p>She was midway through her filing away absences in the computer system when she heard the sound. It sounded like a fire cracker, or a popper, and it came in a succession of two. There and gone. It echoed a moment but faded fast.</p><p>Ms. Wendy shook her head and turned back to her monitor, pushing the thick glasses back up her nose, she peered over the tops, like a grandmother does when trying to focus on something of smaller font, as she double checked her names and lists and saved them for the attendance docket.</p><p>Another <em>pop </em>had her jumping back, her brick-red shaded lips pursed as she pushed herself up from her chair, click-clacking across the office flooring, stepping out from around her desk, to peer out of the office door.</p><p>She looked first to her left, peering around for anything and everything that could cause such an odd sound, and then to the right. Confusion began to settle when she first spotted nothing. Just as she prepared to shrug, her shoulders lifted slightly as was the way, and shake the thoughts from her mind, the doors at the end of the hall flew open.</p><p>They were the doors that lead to the atrium outside, where the upperclassmen gathered before coming in for their first class, the stragglers loitered in procrastination, and the smokers took their puffs. Her shoulders stiffened, hands shaking as she gripped the door tighter, as students ran down the hall in blown panic. A girl stumbled in front of her door and she caught her arm, fingers curling into something warm, solid, and wet.</p><p>"What's going on? What's wrong? What are those soun--"</p><p>Her hand was pried away, the girl's eyes spun to her, wide with terror, her face an unnatural pallor complexion as she stuttered out, pointing down the halls towards the doors and began to run in the other direction again.</p><p>Ms. Wendy was about to yell out at her to come back, finally looking down to see what had stuck to her fingers, and she nearly jumped from her skin when another <em>pop</em> rocked the air in the hall. As the last student turned the opposing corner, she screamed when the glass window of the trophy case shattered, following another resounding <em>pop</em>.</p><p>"Oh dear, oh no, oh dear.", she fumbled around, slamming and locking the office door, she turned and ran back for her desk. On the one corner was a mini control panel of sorts, containing a number of buttons that she knew and a number that she didn't; she pounded her fingers onto a button that she knew turned on the bells. Their school was old in age and still had those gaudy red bells that were used for both tornado and fire emergencies. The phone was connected to a long thin cord, and she tugged it down with her when she decidedly dove for the shadows under her desk. Her hands shook, as she picked up the handset and reached for the button that tuned into the intercom.</p><p>
  <em>"Students and staff, lock all doors and go into lockdown, we have an active situation."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>…</em>
</p><p>The bell rang at 9:49, signaling the end of third period, as it did every other day, and the students in the commons shuffled and chattered as they gathered their belongings; backpacks, books, and coats, as they made their way to their fourth period class.</p><p>Isa stretched until he heard his back pop and ran a hand through his sleep wild curls in an attempt to tame them into something presentable, as he and his two cousins disembarked for the next exhilarating class.</p><p>Physics fourth period was both a blessing and curse in similar ways.</p><p>They talked among themselves, making their plans for the weekend, ensuring the other knew their part in the action, and meandered along with the flow of the crowd of students. Ms. Warren was in the second wing, second floor, third classroom to the end.</p><p>The halls were filled with the sound of scuffling sneakers, click-clacks of heels, and stomps of boots in varying styles and the chatter of teenagers as they moseyed along in the rhythm that was the changing of periods. Ms. Warren stood outside her classroom, like she did every day, greeting her students as they neared and entered.</p><p>All motion came to an echoing halt at the sharp <em>pop </em>from around the corner at the complete far side of the hall. Peers came barreling around said corner, running and screaming, bolting for the mass as another <em>pop </em>rang out. The sound of a third and the shattering of the glass window of the trophy case had them scattering like ants. Some ran this way, others ran that way, bolting for a way out or a place to hide.</p><p>Danny <em>screamed </em>when he was torn away by the chaotic run-around of the crowd, despite the best efforts of Isa and Jack to pull him close again, and he disappeared with the lasting image of his hand outstretched for them to latch onto.</p><p>Another <em>pop </em>and the remaining two members of the trio ducked instinctively away from it. Isa latched onto Jack’s sleeve, yanking him harshly down the left branch in the hall, towards the arts rooms and the library. They bolted side by side, a hand clutching at each other, Isa clutching to Jack's sleeve, and Jack to Isa's backpack strap.</p><p>Screams erupted behind them from the poor souls that got tripped up and trampled about, a resounding echo of <em>popopopopop </em>urging them to run faster, as though they weren't already at full speed and panting.</p><p>…</p><p>
  <em>“Michael!” Lucifer’s voice rang through their Villa, his eyes glued to the screen, he’d been bored, he’d had nothing to do, so, as his teenage son would do, he turned on the tv to see if anything interesting was going on in the human world. “Michael, come here!”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>A door opened down the hall. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>The blonde had a hand pressed to his mouth when his older brother finally came to stand at his side. “Yes, Lucifer.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>He gestures to the television before him, and Michael follows his instruction, narrowing his eyes as he read the headlines, his eyes widening considerably. </em>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>‘Breaking news’ </em>
  </strong>
  <em>the title read. <strong>‘Active shooter confirmed: All Saints Highschool.’</strong></em>
</p><p>
  <em>The broadcast was showing clips of the chaos as it was unfolding; students running from the emergency side doors with their hands on their heads in chaotic lines, a boy pulled from a second story window, the flashing lights of blue and red as more and more surrounded the school. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Father, protect them.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>…</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Isa and Jack had just managed to slide under a computer desk in the library, when the glass on the doors was shot out and shattered loudly against the echoing silence that haunted the space. Tables and desks at the front of the library had been taken already, from students who had already been in the library before their arrival, and screams pierced the air as a series of <em>popopopopop </em>filled in the silence.</p><p>He turned to looked at his cousin, wanting to see something familiar and dear to his heart if this was the last of his minutes breathing. Jack stared back at him, his hand wrapped tightly around his nose and mouth, just as his was too, trying to be as silent as they could. Mentally he prayed for his dad and Uncles, his older brothers, Adam and Austin, who’d stayed home sick today, having caught what Danny had the day’s previous, that they would continue to live on and remember him. Isa couldn't believe his luck in this moment either, as his heart beat hit alarming rates and the <em>pop</em>s and screams snuffed to silence got closer, he'd faced down Hell Knights, human traffickers, uppity hunters, the Winchesters and Castiel, and that was just the tip of the ice berg, and this was how he was going to be taken out.</p><p>Somebody fell in front of their table, barely moving, a body, and they jolted out of their thoughts as they turned to stare at her. She was just a bit younger than them, probably a freshman, Isa remembers passing her a few times in the hallway between classes.</p><p>Her flower-print white shirt is quickly fading to something more crimson as a wound somewhere on her person bled out, her eyes found his and pleaded for help even as the light slowly faded. There are a few notable moments in his life that he's felt so powerless, and this, staring into the haunting eyes of his young peer, is going to be added to that list.</p><p>"Ple....plea...."</p><p>
  <em>Pop. </em>
</p><p>Her plead falls silent as she thumps to the floor, not to move again, and combat boots step into view. They step into a pooling puddle of red and leave a print on the linoleum flooring as the person stands there. Isa curls closer to his cousin, Jack shivers violently beside him, when they see the barrel of the assault rifle fall lazily towards the floor, and the knees bend as they kneel.</p><p>"Mostafa.", eyes track his, darkened by unbridled hatred, but alight with a flame of competence, "Lokison.", they both know who their assaulter is, they've had gym class together since the sixth grade. Though they weren't close, or considered acquainted enough to be friends, they'd always been civil. Once, he'd lost his lunch to the upper class bullies, and Isa had given him half of his sandwich and chips, it had been all he'd had himself, but he was a sharing person, and Jack had let him copy his notes once when his own had been destroyed during a 'visit' to the bathroom.</p><p>Just little things.</p><p>"H...Hey....Max....."</p><p>He turns to look at the downed freshman and rubs his free hand over his chin, "S'up?"</p><p>Jack swallows harshly and shakes his head with a disoriented sort of shrug, and Isa feels as though he's going to keel over from a heart attack at any moment.</p><p>"Nothin.....You?"</p><p>Max coughs and spits into the girls hair, whether or not that was the aim, he doesn’t know, and he doesn’t feel the desire to ask, he can’t tear his eyes away from their school mate.</p><p>"Oh just killing some folks, you know......", he turns back to them and Isa is sure this is their end...,"Run."</p><p>They sit frozen, staring at their year mate, and Max waves his riffle wildly, "Run guys! GO!", they don't need to be told twice, scurrying out from under their table, tugging at one another, Isa and Jack bolt from the library. They run as fast as they can, turning wildly to make sure this isn't a trick and they’re about to be shot from behind, but Max doesn’t follow them around the corners they turn.</p><p>More <em>pop</em>s fill the air.</p><p>Screams echo into silence.</p><p>Isa is still trying to run ahead when Jack slows down, his cousin’s hand jerking violently at his sleeve when he comes to a complete halt, and he nearly stumbles backwards with the jerk of sudden immovable force.</p><p>He turns back to him wildly, "Jack!"</p><p>"Danny! We have to find Danny!"</p><p>"We have to <em>run</em>!"</p><p>Normally, neither boy would ever consider leaving their cousin behind, but in times like this, all normal rational thought leaves one’s mind and the flight or fight instinct takes full control. Jack shakes his head and turns down the hall his twin had been tugged down during the stampede of terrorized students, "We have to find him!", Isa huffs, throwing his hands towards the two emergency doors they were so near to, just at the end of the hall, "But..Jack!", but follows in the end.</p><p>Rational thinking right out the window, indeed, any sane person would run out those doors unashamedly.</p><p>He was sure.</p><p>…</p><p>
  <em>"Jerry what's it looking like down there?", the newscaster, Jennifer Styles, had seen a lot in her days, and though most of the country was seemingly desensitized by the news of <strong>another </strong>school shooting, especially in the times they lived in now, she herself had a niece that went to that school and it did nothing to deter her from checking her phone for any sort of updates or messages, whether she was live on camera or not, and for the gravity and the horror of the situation to sink in for her.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Family was Family. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Jerry Stringer was on scene, among various other channels, and he could do little more but shake his head and motion for the camera man to give them a look at the unfolded chaos. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Its.....It's wrenching Jenn.....Absolutely wrenching.....From what we've been told by authorities thus far, they believe it to be only one gunman, his arsenal unknown, no rocks are being left unturned with this....We've been told, from what's been cleared so far, there's been at least four fatalities with more updates in that regard coming.....Parents and family's alike have started arriving looking for missing children."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>They sat in silence as the clips began playing again. The camera panning out to get a view of the ground, and then switching to a chopper for a birds eye view, students were still running from the building; three girls came running from a back door, near the stadium, one clutching a wound on her arm. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Do they have any information of who the shooter may be?"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"It's not something they have released just yet.......though it has been confirmed by a number of staff and students that it is indeed one of the students unleashing this terror. It's rumored he is located somewhere in the east wing near the library......it's.......Jenn it's a bloodbath...."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The two Archangels were just that, Archangels, there was very little that was outside of their power and abilities. But in this there was nothing but the wait. Is this what the humans felt like? Not knowing what to do and not able to do much of anything even if they did? Waiting for a phone call from either law enforcement or their loved one to allow them to breathe again? </em>
</p><p>
  <em>They were Archangels, the two oldest in all of creation, and their hands were just as tied as any other families were. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>…</p><p>Isa and Jack spied cautiously around the corner, and upon spotting no one, nothing but the carnage and the debris left in the wake of the tragedy and trauma still unfolding somewhere in their school, they ran as silently as they could down the hall.</p><p>"<em>Danny</em>?", the Norse teen whispered as loudly as he dared, tuning his eyes and ears to spot anything that may be a response to his call, whether it be good or bad, ready to react to anything and everything, <em>“Danny, can you hear me</em>?"</p><p>Worry for their cousin mixed dangerously with the already frayed nerves for the two boys, and they jumped at any noise they heard from any given direction. The crackle of a paper underfoot and the squeak of a sneaker on the tile flooring.</p><p>"Jack?"</p><p>The teens came to a sudden stop, turning and straining to find where the voice had called from, "Jack?...Isa?......", a set of soft tan fingers curled around the edge of a janitors closet door and pushed it outwards only just to allow a pair of golden eyes to peek out from the safety of a hiding spot.</p><p>"Danny!"</p><p>He bolted from his hole, slipping on a wet patch of red, something the three of them ignored to the best of their ability, and nearly bowled them over with his leaping stumbling hug. There was a brief moment of relief that washed over them all at being reunited and otherwise physically unharmed, though mental wounds were yet to be fully determined.</p><p>"What are....How.....?"</p><p>"He...He let us go..Told us to go and run but we couldn't leave you!"</p><p>He smiled at them, his eyes wet and red but shining with just how much their coming for him was appreciated, and he turned back to his closet, "Guys we should go, but we can't leave her either.", the two boys exchanged looks and followed just as restlessly, to see Carmen Delgados leaning back against the wall with two red holes painting the front of her purple jumper.</p><p>"Oh my god! Is she dead!"</p><p>They turned to look at Isa for a moment, and Carmen whimpered in pain, both boys surged forward to help her to her feet. Danny was wringing his hands waiting for them, they were running on limited time here, there was no telling if Max was going to go back on his decision to let them go and come hunting.</p><p>Isa and Jack helped Carmen out of the closet, an arm around each of their shoulders, and the four of them made their way down the hall as silently and cautiously as possible. The only thing that caused them to stop, at the backend of the hall, near a set of stairs, was another series of <em>popopop popopop </em>that echoed through the silent halls.</p><p>And, <em>"Hey!"</em></p><p>
  <em>…</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Raphael Mostafa, to the humans, hadn’t stopped running since he’d left his Infirmary, darting around the edge of the alley he’d landed in, as nearest to the school as possible, and ran down the street towards the chaos. Parents had congregated around a section of sidewalk, searching and calling for their children and loved ones. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>The scene was a chaotic mess.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Police officers were running about.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Swat teams were lined up and entering the building.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Paramedics were trying to attend to the wounded. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Wailing was heard from families who had been confirmed the loss. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Teens were strewn about, some stuck in a daze of shock, others staring in horror at their school with their hands buried deep in their hair, some were sobbing in the arms of friends or family members, there was kids sitting in the middle of the parking lot or on cement parking blocks crying to themselves or huddled inward staring unseeingly into the space before them. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>He felt nothing but sorrow for them, but his focus was on one teenager specifically, his teenager, his teenager who had not texted his phone since early this morning and was not answering any of his calls following that text. His teenager who had not been confirmed safe and sound or still stuck in there. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Raphael ran through the crowd frantically calling his son’s name with every breath he took, eyes searching, and ear peeled for any reply to his call. His voice. Anything that was him coming to him. He ran through the ambulances that had yet to leave, staring in horror as some pushed cots covered in white sheets into the back, others with the bodies of teenagers laying listlessly on the bed. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>He prayed, to any god or goddess that would listen, that his Isa was not one of them under those dreadful white coverings. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Jack! Danny!", that voice he recognized, and the frantic Archangel spun to locate it, yanking his brother around forcibly, Gabriel’s golden eyes stared into his emerald ones, unbridled terror making them shine. “Gabe have you heard anything! Are they okay? Please tell me they’re okay!"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"I can't find them!"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>…</em>
</p><p>What had come after that was somewhat of a blur, the SWAT team that had found them had cleared the rest of the hall, two had taken over in carrying Carmen out, and they were lead back down the stairs and out the emergency door at the backend of the hall. Their school friend was handed off to awaiting paramedics, and they were ushered to the others to be looked over, cleared of injury almost immediately.</p><p>“Isa! Isa Mostafa! Isa!” He turned, his mind still flying in the clouds, shock still controlling his thoughts. “Dad!”</p><p>He collided into him half way through the crowd, hugging himself as tight to him as he could, he spun them around, and cried into his curls.</p><p>Isa cried into his dad’s chest, the weight of everything finally falling over him, vaguely hearing the sound of his Uncle coming up beside them, calling out to his twin cousins, and them colliding into him.</p><p>“Isa, are you okay? Oh god Isa, I’ve never been so frightened in my life!” He sifted his fingers through the boy’s curls, and tugged him away for a moment, looking him over carefully, and then tugged him back in closer.</p><p>…</p><p>
  <em>Adam, sniffled, and fumbled for his phone when it dinged, a new message, "We're coming home.", and a collective sigh of relief.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>…</em>
</p><p>They door to their Villa had only just closed, when they were ambushed, their cousins colliding with them, forcing the three of them back a step, their dads behind them keeping them from falling over, their Uncles converged on them, asking questions and demanding answers, the cousins talking in hushed tones to each other between their parents.</p><p>“I want to look them all over.”</p><p>Isa and the Twins look up at the Healer. “Dad, they said we were fine.”</p><p>“I think I’ll be the judge of that.”</p><p>The twins butt in. “But they said—”</p><p>“Who is the Healer here?”</p><p>The three teenagers look at each other, heaved a massive sigh, and rolled their eyes, Isa looking back up when a finger taps his cheek warningly. “You are dad.”</p><p>“You are, Uncle Raph.”</p><p>“Very good.” He gestured them all into their living room, their cousins stayed with them, sniffling, and ignoring the look from their Uncle that clearly meant to tell them that they should still be in bed.</p><p>They were cleared with a pat to the cheek and a quick head rub each, and they returned to their cousins sides, Isa leaned back against his dad’s legs as he sat, the twins against their dad’s legs, taking the controllers that their cousins held out to them, the logo and music for Animal Crossing coming over the television.</p><p>“Dudes,” Isa clicked on his avatar and waited as his Island loaded. “Ya’ll need to come to my island, I got some new neighbors, they’re super dope.”</p><p>They sat on the floor together, exploring their cousin’s island, their fathers sitting around behind them, listening to them banter back and forth, watching them play together, none of them talking about the trauma they had been through, not yet, they just huddled together on the floor, their parents a protective barrier around them, putting it off for the time being.</p><p>They’d talk to Akriel in the morning.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0055"><h2>55. A Slow Moving Poison</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It’s been four years since he got his dad back, four years since he’d died and been resurrected by Grandfather, four years, and here he was, sitting next to his dad’s unconscious body, where he’s laying on his death bed, an unknown poison running through his veins, slowly making it’s way to his heart, and once it gets there, his dad is going to die, again, he’s going to lose his only parent, again.</p><p>He can’t go through that again. He won’t survive his dad dying again. He won’t. He knows he won’t.</p><p>Isa looks away from his dad, to the beaker sitting on Zed’s workstation, the Virtue hard at work trying to find the antidote, going through all his journals for the toxin that had been used. He’d wait until he was sure he had it to inject the concoction into his Archangel, there was no telling if it would actually work unless he experimented first, and he doubted, <em>highly</em> doubted, that Zed would be willing to experiment on his Archangel.</p><p>He was nothing if not an idiotic martyr.</p><p>Looking down at his dad, he huffs softly, nodding to himself, and rises from his chair.</p><p>Zed’s so preoccupied, he doesn’t see him coming up behind him, he doesn’t see him reaching around him for the beaker resting just a few inches away from his left hand. The Nephilim lifts it slowly and carefully from his side, not wanting to be too sudden or too fast and catch his attention, once he has it in hand, he steps back a step, just incase the apothecary moves, and stares down at the poison that had been extracted and collected in the beaker he holds in his hand.</p><p>He can’t take all of it, but there’s quite a bit, the beaker is almost full.</p><p><em>Well, bottoms up. </em>Isa lifts the beaker to his lips just as the Virtue looks over for the beaker, makes a sound of surprise, he curls his lips over the edge and tilts the beaker, just as Zed turns, and takes a large gulp, as their eyes lock.</p><p>“Isaiah!”</p><p>He holds the beaker out to him. “Take this, I don’t want to spill it when I go down.”</p><p>Zed takes the beaker quickly, sets it behind him on his workbench, and jumps forward when the Nephilim’s legs give out. “Why in the <em>hell</em> would you do that!”</p><p>Isa smiles slightly. “I got nine lives man.” He frowns, he feels weird, the room is spinning. “Give your antidote to dad first, okay, him first, then me.”</p><p>The Virtue yelps when he collapses, his head lulling back, and scoops him up. “Oh, I’m going to tan you like you’ve never been tanned before, you can count on that.” He carries him around his workstation and sets him down on the bed next to his Archangel. “Right after your dad takes out his displeasure on your soon to be beaten bottom.” Huffing in aggravation, he shakes his head at the boy, and turns, returning to his workstation to continue on the antidote, he’s just about got it, he just needs to add the right elements.</p><p>…</p><p>Isa blinks into awareness, staring up at the ceiling above him, and turns his head a moment later, flinching slightly at the <em>angry </em>glare that meets his gaze. They sit there in silence for a long moment, Nephilim staring up at his father and Archangel staring down at his son, he swallows. “Dad, you’re awake!”</p><p>“I am,” his dad’s deep voice sounds angry. “And, now you are too.” His arms cross firmly. “Isaiah, of all the crazy, idiotic, asinine things you’ve done, <em>this</em> takes the cake.”</p><p>“But—But I did it for you!”</p><p>“Don’t you <em>dare</em> try to pin this one on me, little one.”</p><p>Isa licks his lips lightly. “I…I did it to help, dad! I did it to help Zed make the antidote!”</p><p>“<em>No</em>,” Raphael shakes his head firmly. “You did it because you were <em>impatient</em>. Zed was almost done with the antidote, he was just putting the finishing touches on it, if anything, <em>you </em>made it an <em>inconvenience</em> because he had to make a larger amount then he would have if you hadn’t done what you did.”</p><p>He feels his eyes burn, tears make it difficult to see as they gather, and he breathes a soft sob. “I—I—I ju—just didn’t w—want to—to lose y—you a—again! I—I j—just wa—wanted t—to h—help!”</p><p>The Archangel sighs deeply, scooting closer in his chair, and reaches out for the distraught Nephilim child. “Come here, my little one, come here.” He lifts the boy up easily, pulling him up to sit in his lap, pressing him in close, curling his arms around him. “It’s alright, settle on down, everything’s alright.” He scratches at the side of the boy’s head, pressing him against his shoulder, humming soothingly. “Sshhh, it’s alright, little one, it’s alright.”</p><p>“I—I—I co—couldn’t l—lose y—you a—again, d—d—daddy!”</p><p>“I know, little one, I know.” He strokes the boy’s curls back gently. “I wasn’t going to leave you so easily, I would have held on for as long as I could have, it’s alright, you’re alright, hush now, little one, hush your cries.” He cups his hand around his cheek, wiping up tears with his thumb. “Sshhh, sshhh, it’s alright, everything’s alright.”</p><p>“Z—Z—Zed m—must ha—hate m—m—me n—now!”</p><p>“No, Zed doesn’t hate you, he’s very upset, very cross with you, but he doesn’t hate you, you’re still his beloved baby brother.”</p><p>Isa inhales a shaky breath. “Y—You h—h—hate m—me n—now?”</p><p>“No, little one, my child, I don’t hate you. I’m <em>very</em> angry with you. But, that <em>doesn’t</em> mean I hate you. I will always love you, with all my heart, no matter what.”</p><p>“S—S—Spanking?”</p><p>The Healer hums deeply. “Oh, you best <em>believe</em> you’re getting a <em>good</em> lashing, from myself <em>and </em>Zed.”</p><p>Isa whines, but figures it’s deserved, and holds onto his dad tighter.</p><p>…</p><p>He knew it was coming, his dad had let him hang onto him for three days, before finally putting his foot down and pushing him back, they had business to attend to that couldn’t be put off any longer, and once they were done, and the boy wanted to latch back on, he would be more then happy to pull him back in.</p><p>Isa whimpers softly as he hears the buckle of the belt jingle softly as his dad folds it over, his bare bottom open for the taking, bent over the front edge of his desk, curling his fingers into tight fists, waiting for it in anticipation for it to begin, he knows what the belt feels like, he’s felt it numerous times before, and it never gets any better, honestly, it only seems to get worse, each and every time.</p><p>He hears it whistle through the air and shrieks when it lashes down, jumping forward, struggling against his desire to throw his hands back, that only adds on more to his fifteen lashes and he runs the chance of getting his hands lashed, accidently, but painful none the less.</p><p>They continue to rain down, one after another, and he’s quickly reduced to sobs, begging him to stop, anything, just anything to get it to stop.</p><p>But his pleas fall on deaf ears.</p><p>When they stop, he’s guided down to sit on that dreaded unforgiving chair, struggling not to squirm, sobbing into his hands. Waiting for his dad to tell him he can get up.</p><p>Raphael sighs, shaking his head lightly, turning to return the belt to the closet in his office, and crosses around to sit in his desk chair, behind his desk, and rubs at his temple in exasperation, he was upset, he was very upset at the boy’s actions, but he knew he couldn’t place blame.</p><p>Isa has a number of mental illnesses, and though they are being treated properly, traumatic events can most certainly cause him to have an episode, and that’s what his actions had been, an episode. He knew what he was doing, but he couldn’t stop himself, not really, it was something he felt as though he <em>had</em> to do, consequences be damned.</p><p>So, while he was upset with him, he couldn’t necessarily place blame on him.</p><p>“Alright, Isa, you can get up.”</p><p>The Nephilim springs up from the chair, rubbing at his bottom miserably, tugging his boxers and jeans back up, bouncing lightly as he rubs at his bottom once more, then he turns to look at him, and he nods, waving him forward. “Come here, little one.” He darts around the side of his desk, jumping back into his arms, into his lap, curling around him, and he happily holds him close as he turns back to face his desk. He’s got nothing to do today, perhaps he’ll put the boy down for a nap, and work on his journal.</p><p>…</p><p>Zed hadn’t said a word to him, wooden stirring spoon in hand, gesturing to the edge of his workbench, and he nods, turning to lean over the edge, a hand catches him by the arm. “Bared, Isaiah.”</p><p>The Nephilim looks up at him in alarm. “In front of <em>everyone</em>!”</p><p>“Bared, Isaiah, <em>now</em>.”</p><p>He cringes, nodding slightly. “Yes, big brother.” And slowly unbuttons his dark jeans, shimmy them down slightly, followed by his boxers, and leans over the edge of his older brother’s work bench. He curls a hand over his shoulder, to keep him in place, and he curls his fingers in his older brother’s apron, laying just before him on the table.</p><p>The spoon.</p><p>The spoon is <em>just</em> as bad as the belt.</p><p>He shrieks, his cheeks, and he’s not talking about his butt, burn when heads turn to look at them, but that doesn’t bring his brother to pause, as he continues to rain the wooden spoon down on his bare open bottom, and he shrieks intermittently, stuffing a fist into his mouth to silence them when people keep looking over, and he bounces in place, with every whack, tears streaming down his cheeks.</p><p>Slamming his fist down on the table, his begging start up, begging him to stop, that it hurts, and he’s sorry, he’s <em>really really </em>sorry, but it doesn’t stop, if anything, it gets worse. His older brother lifts him up by the back of his shirt, lifting him up slightly, forcing him to stand on his toes, the spoon starts to rain down on his sit spots, and he cries harder, burying his face in his hands.</p><p>It feels like it lasts a life time, but then it’s over, it’s done, and the spoon is set down, he’s lowered to his feet, turned around, and lifted off his feet to sit on the equally unforgiving hard workbench. “Three minutes, Isaiah, no squirming.” He nods, crying into his hands, his butt hurts, it burns, it feels like it’s on fire, and the hard surface of the table doesn’t help. Slowly, he gets his cries under control, and he rubs his nose with the sleeve of his hoodie, sniffling miserably, kicking his feet slightly as he waits for his three minutes to end. Zed reaches around him for his apron and pulls it over his head silently, reaching around behind himself to tie it, and then comes to stand in front of him, lifting him up off the table and setting him on his feet, he waits for him to bounce slightly in place and pull his boxers and jeans back up. Then he’s lifted off his feet again and set back to sit on the work bench, Zed leans forward, against the edge of the table, between his legs, and lifts his head gently cleaning him up with the handkerchief in his pocket and pinches his nose lightly. “Don’t you <em>ever</em> do something like that again, do you understand me?”</p><p>“I ‘nde’stan’.”</p><p>“Good.” He releases his nose, stuffing his handkerchief back in his pocket, and leans forward to wrap him in his arms. “You about scared a thousand years off my life. Not only was I running the risk of losing my Archangel, I was now running the risk of losing my little baby brother, don’t you <em>ever</em> put me in that position again.”</p><p>Isa presses into his chest. “I won’t, big brother, I’m sorry.”</p><p>“It’s a’ight.” He smiles, digging his fingers in the Nephilim’s sides, making him shriek with laughter, and push against his chest. “You’re dad said you’re <em>all</em> mine for the rest of the afternoon, I wonder what I should do to you.”</p><p>“Zeheheheheed nohohohoho! Nohohohot thahahahahaat!”</p><p>“You know, I was bored the other day, and doing some experiments, I did some testing on my other poor little brothers, and I made something that makes you <em>extra</em> ticklish, I should force that into you and have a go at all those spots I know.”</p><p>“Zehehehehed! Pleehehehehheease! Pleehehehehheheease dohohohohon’t! Pleheheheease! Aaaahahahahhahahahaaha stohohhohop! Bihihihihig brohohoohother stohhoohhohhhohohohop!”</p><p>The apothecary chuckles, giving one last wiggle over the Nephilim’s sensitive sides, and withdraws, passing him Araton’s apron. “How about we see what we can make explode.”</p><p>Isa cheers, pulling the apron over his head, pumping a fist in the air. “Heck, yea!”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0056"><h2>56. In The Dead Of Night 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Holding the unconscious form of his son in his arms as they ascend through the storm raging around them is not what he’d imaged he’d be doing at three thirty in the morning, he’d just been getting into bed when he’d heard the boy’s cry, the tone of his voice, the fear, the desperation, that’s what made him shove his feet into his boots, throw his door open, and dart to the edge just beyond the gates, he’d been right behind Ephraim, the child had called for all of them, hoping any of them would come, and seeing his child laying in the middle of a parking lot, staring up at the storm above him in a daze, had sent a rage through him that he hadn’t felt since their siege on Egypt.</p><p>He’d wanted to get his hands on them, to tear them apart piece by piece, but when he felt the weight of the boy against his back, he knew he had more important matters to tend to.</p><p>The boy hangs limply in his arms, his head pressed against his shoulder, and he breaks through the barrier quickly.</p><p>Rushing the boy inside his Infirmary, he finds the closest bed to put him on, and lays him down tenderly. Immediately, he sets to work, tugging the boy’s heavy soaked jeans down off his limp form, someone tugs at his shirt, and he looks up, Oren’s bent over the top of the bed, tugging the youth’s shirt up over his head.</p><p>“Turn him over!” Akriel arrives at his side, panting lightly, grabbing the limp teenagers leg. “Turn him over on his belly!”</p><p>“Ak, wha—”</p><p>“There was blood smeared on the cement, turn him over!” Oren nods, taking hold of one shoulder, their Archangel comes up to take the other shoulder, and Akriel lifts his legs as they turn him over to lay on his belly. They stare at his back for a moment, it looks as though it’s been flayed, the first, possibly the second, layers of skin of been completely torn off. “I’m going to get a tub of water and some sponges.” They both nod, and he darts off, to gather what he’d sent himself for.</p><p>“Here.” Zed comes up behind him, holding out a few vials, and he takes them silently. “Pain relief, I don’t know when he’ll wake up, but his back is going to be pretty sore, so I’d give him those.”</p><p>“There’s glass in his feet.” Ephraim’s kneeling at the foot of his bed, Constantine joins him, both frowning at the state of his soles. “We’ll get it out.”</p><p>Oren frowns, looking down at the matted curls, it looks like mud, but when he touches a finger to it and it comes back red, he knows it’s not. “He hit his head pretty hard.”</p><p>Raphael nods as he fills a syringe with the first vial of the agent Zed had given him. “Take care of it.”</p><p>“Of course, of course, I was just sayin.”</p><p>The Archangel moves to his feet first, frowning at the state of them, the glass is wedged in deep, giving the indication that the glass had been shoved in, pressure had been applied, he’d probably been running. He sticks the needle into the sole of his left foot, empties half of the solution, and moves to the right, numbing both of them for Ephraim and Constantine to work.</p><p>Akriel returns with his tub and sponges, a towel draped over his arm, Zed stops him just as he sets it down, pouring a small bottle of <em>something </em>into the water. “Disinfectant, better then soap.”</p><p>“Thanks, Z.”</p><p>“Yep, I’m going to get him some thick blankets and dry clothes.”</p><p>Akriel nods, waiting as his Archangel injects the pain relief agent into the boy’s back, various locations, to spread it around evenly, and passes him a sponge when he holds his hand out. While they gently clean his back, Ephraim and Constantine carefully pull the shards of glass out of his feet with tweezers, collecting it in a bucket between them, all in all, they’re quite impressed that he’d managed to stand with the amount of glass he’d had shoved into his soles, they push the bucket, with a substantial amount of glass inside, back and wrap his feet.</p><p>Raphael frowns at the state of his son’s back, and shakes his head, humming to himself, as he leans over and presses his hand in the center. Akriel turns, watching as his Archangel’s grace seeps into the boy’s skin, the skin growing under his touch, the blood and road burn fading.</p><p>Oren’s finishing wrapping his bandage around the Nephilim’s head, when Zed returns, warm blankets in his arms, clean clothes on top, Raphael takes the clothes, dressing the boy carefully. Oren and Akriel tuck the blankets around him and take a seat at his sides.</p><p>The mental specialist kicks his boots off, propping his feet up on the side of the boy’s bed, crossing his ankles comfortably. Oren leans forward, watching the Nephilim rest, they knew he was resting, he wasn’t leaving them, not if they had anything to say about it.</p><p>Constantine takes a seat next to Akriel at the foot of the bed, Ephraim at his side, and Zed next to Oren, watching the small Nephilim closely.</p><p>Their Archangel hummed, leaning over to press a kiss to the boy’s temple, and stands. “I’m going to get him another blanket.”</p><p>They nod at him, and he parts from his son’s side, knowing he was well looked after until he returned, but he still moved quickly, hoping to be there when he awoke.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0057"><h2>57. Hostage Situations</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When he awakens, he finds himself in a dark room, the lights dim, and immediately, he registers that he’s tied to a chair, ropes wrapped around his chest and ankles, and cuffs wrapped around his wrists, his arms behind his back, and there’s two men, their backs facing him, talking to each other.</p><p>His dad says it’s rude to eavesdrop.</p><p>What he doesn’t know doesn’t hurt him.</p><p>“Dave said that this kid’s his son.”</p><p>“This little shit is the son of an Archangel?”</p><p>“That’s what Dave said, Rick, he’s also the one who threw a knife through Dave’s hand.”</p><p>
  <em>Woah, hold up, ‘Bobs’ name is Dave, that’s even better then ‘Bob’, oh my god, that’s too good.</em>
</p><p>“We should kill ‘em, John, his kind are abominations, they’re monsters, I mean, there’s gotta be a reason God didn’ like ‘em, right?”</p><p>“Nah, we can’t right now, later, but we need him alive if we’re gonna get his daddy down here to heal Sampson.”</p><p>
  <em>Now, hold on just a minute, I’m being used as a hostage, that’s so cool, kind of boring, but cool. I can add it to my resume. It’s getting rather extensive now. Wait, wait, back up, they’re holding me hostage to get dad to heal someone? Not the best course of action, but we’ll see how it goes, wonder how they’re going to get him down here.</em>
</p><p>“Okay, Rick, we got the ingredients in the bowl, do you have the summoning prayer ready?”</p><p>
  <em>Oh, they’re going to summon him, anticlimactic, but smart. </em>
</p><p>“I got it, John, let’s do this thing, Carl ain’t going to hang on very much longer.”</p><p>He watches the tall one drop a lit match in the bowl, the flames flare, burning a bright emerald green. “Okay, Rick, you’re up.”</p><p>The other guy nods. <em>“Blessed Saint Raphael, Archangel, We beseech thee to help us in all our needs and trials of life, as though, through the power of God didst restore sight and give guidance to young Tobit. We humbly seek thine aid and intercession, that our souls may be healed, our bodies protected from all ills, and that through divine grace, we may be fit to dwell in the eternal Glory of God in heaven.”</em></p><p>The flames in the bowl flare brightly, casting a glow around the room, and he watches them die out, extinguish completely, and closes his eyes, reaching out, to see if he’s really going to come. He reaches out with his grace, reaching for his sire, and opens his eyes when his grace reaches back, curling around his, offering comfort and seeking his whereabouts.</p><p>He feels his father’s grace snap when he shows him, enraged, more aptly, pissed off, at his captors daring to kidnap him, then he soothes him, apologizing for snapping.</p><p>
  <em>They want you to heal someone and they’re using me as bait.</em>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>I see. </em>
  </strong>
</p><p>And then, there’s a hand on his head, and a deep voice rumbles from behind him. “You wish for me to heal an acquaintance of yours, and use my son as your, shall we say, encouragement?” John and Rick jump around in surprise, eyes widening as they land on the tall African American man behind their captive, his hand resting on the boy’s head. “That’s a tad suicidal, don’t you think?”</p><p>“Look,” John holds his hands out. “We weren’t gonna hurt him.”</p><p>“And, yet, here he sits, bound and gagged.” His green eyes avert to the boy before him. “Grace suppressing cuffs, you had planned this in advance, you wanted to ensure he could not escape.” He snaps his fingers, and the boy stands, stretching out, crossing behind the chair to stand at the Archangel’s side, he looks up when he sees his dad look down at him. “Are you alright, my little one?”</p><p>Isa nods. “Yea, I’m a little groggy, but I’m okay, dad.”</p><p>Raphael nods, pulling the boy closer, turning his attention to the two who’d summoned him. “Now, give me one good reason why I shouldn’t smite you all here and now.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0058"><h2>58. Consequences For Fighting</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The door to his office opens, and he knows who it is, they boy always comes to him when he get’s home from school, and he frowns, checking his watch for the time, before returning to the papers he’s working on at the present moment. “You’re home early. You let only three hours ago.”</p><p>“Umm…Yea…They sent me home early.”</p><p>The Archangel hums softly. “What for?”</p><p>“I…I umm…I got into a fight at school.”</p><p>“I see, go stand in the corner, Isaiah, I’ll deal with this matter when I’m done.”</p><p>The Nephilim nods silently, dropping his backpack in one of the chairs in front of him, and turns, heading for the available corner behind him. He waits there for what feels like an eternity, leaning forward, his forehead pressed in the corner, when he hears the paper his dad had been working on shuffle lightly.</p><p>“Come here, Isaiah, bring the brush with you.”</p><p>He bites his lip, nodding silently, and turns first for the shelf next to him, reaching up for the brush. It’s  a good sized brush, made of thick cherry wood, the bristles soft and light, used for smoothing out the feathers while grooming wings. It has more then one use. Fingers curled around the handle, he lifts it from the shelf, turning to face his father.</p><p>Raphael stare at him, his gaze if firm, but not harsh, he knows his son wouldn’t purposefully start an altercation, there had to be a reason for it, but, he still must be punished for allowing his temper to get the best of him. He holds his hand out for the brush, and the Nephilim leans over his desk to hand it to him, he points to the spot next to him, scooting his chair back slightly.</p><p>Isa nods, crossing around behind his father’s desk, standing before him.</p><p>“Bare yourself.”</p><p>“But dad—”</p><p>“<em>Bare </em>yourself, Isaiah.”</p><p>He nods mutely, reaching for the button on his jeans, tugging his jeans and boxers down slightly, he bites his lip as he’s guided around, facing the door, fingers curling in the edges of his jacket, waiting in anticipation for the first harsh swat. He feels the solid side of the brush press against his right cheek, and he inhales when it’s pulled back. He yelps, jumping slightly, when it comes back down harshly, a resounding thwack filling the office space, it comes down again and again, a pattern forming with each swat. Right, left, right, left, repeat and repeat. Tears quickly form in his eyes, making them burn, and when he blinks, clenching his eyes shut, tears trickle down his cheeks</p><p>“Tell me why you’re being punished, Isaiah.”</p><p>The boy stifles another yelp when the brush strikes down harshly at his hesitation. “I—I got in—into a fight a—at s—school.”</p><p>“And, what happens when you get into fights at school?”</p><p>Isa jumps again, breathing out a sob. “I—I g—get walloped w—with the br—brush.”</p><p>“That’s right, what are you not going to do?”</p><p>He curls a fist over his mouth as another sob is torn from him. “G—Get into a—another fight!”</p><p>“Very good, lean forward.”</p><p>The boy does as he’s told, and shrieks, when the brush comes down on his sit spots harshly. This eternity is <em>longer</em> then the eternity he spent standing in the corner, crying out as the brush comes down relentlessly again and again. His butt feels like it’s on fire, it burns, and he tries swiping the tears off his face, fruitlessly, more tears simply replace them, repainting the tear tracks.</p><p>“D—Dad I’m s—sorry! P—Please stop! P—Please! I—It b—burns! D—Dad, please! N—No m—more! I—I’ll never f—fight a—again!” He sobs into his hands when it seems like the brush is never going to stop coming down again and again. “D—Daddy, please! D—Daddy, I—I’m sorry! I—I’m so s—sorry! P—Please! N—No m—more! I—I’ll n—never do it a—again! O—Owww! Ooowwwww! P—Please, d—daddy! N—Never a-again! N—No more! P—Please, n—no m—more!”</p><p>“Next time you come home early for fighting, I will use the strap, do you understand me?”</p><p>He nods quickly. “Y—Yes! I—I understand! I—I un—understand!”</p><p>The brush comes down with one final whack to both sides and stops, he sobs into his hands, turning willingly when he’s tugged around, the brush held out to him. “Put this back on the shelf and sit in the chair.”</p><p>Isa nods miserably, knowing not to rub at his bottom, not yet, and he’ll admit it, he bounces slightly as he crosses the office to return the brush to the shelf, and then to his seat, the hard, solid, unforgiving seat. He lowers himself slowly, whining as his burning bottom touches the hard chair. He squirms, twisting around, trying to find a comfortable position, as comfortable as he can possibly be, given the burning in his rear end.</p><p>“Sit still, Isa, no squirming.”</p><p>He nods, focusing on his breathing, to get his sobs under control, sitting as still as he can on the dreaded hard chair, watching his dad return to his paperwork now that things had been taken care of, he knows he hasn’t been forgotten about, his dad knows he’s there, he’s keeping count of the time, and he slouches miserably, waiting for him to tell him he could get up.</p><p>Those three minutes are the longest three minutes of his life. “Alright, Isa, you can get up.” The Nephilim jumps from his chair, rubbing at his burning bottom miserably, bouncing slightly as he whines, his dad chuckles deeply and he resists the urge to glare at him for finding his discomfort amusing, but he refrains, looking down at his feet instead. “Come here, my little one, come here.”</p><p>He nods, bouncing slightly as he pulls his boxer’s and jean’s back up, crossing back around behind his dad’s desk, falling into his lap dramatically, his dad chuckles again, wrapping his arms around his waist, and he rests his head against his shoulder. “Dad, that really hurt.”</p><p>“I’d imagine so, it was quite red, it looked something akin to a tomato.”</p><p>“Daaaad!” He smacks the Archangel’s chest. “That’s not funny!”</p><p>Raphael smiles, humming deeply, looking down at he claws his fingers into the boy’s side. His son shrieks, arching away, leaning into him even more. “Dahahahahahaad! Dahahahahahhaad nohohohohoho! Nohohohot faahahhaaair! Nohhohohohot fahahhahahhaair!”</p><p>“It seems quite fair, I’m still punishing you, I think it’s quite fair.” He adjusts his grip. “Let me get to that belly.”</p><p>“Dahahahaad! Nohohohoho! Pleheheheease!”</p><p>“Let me get that belly.” Isa bats at his hand as it slides up under his shirt. “There we go.” He shrieks with laughter when the fingers claw in viciously. “Much better.” The Nephilim’s bright laughter fills in the office space, where his sobs once did just a few minutes ago, and he squirms, kicking his legs, pressing against his dad’s chest when those fingers crawl over to claw into his ribs. “I hope you learn from this lesson, little one.”</p><p>After a few minutes, he lets the boy pull his hand out, hugging it against his chest. “Dad, you’re so mean.”</p><p>“I’m the meanest, aren’t I?”</p><p>“The worst.”</p>
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<a name="section0059"><h2>59. I Think I'll Survive</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Hey….Uh…..Raph.” He looks up from his journal at the sound of his Captain’s voice. “You…You may want to come see this.”</p><p>Sighing, he sets his pen down, pushes his chair down, and stands. Crossing out from behind his desk, he follows the Virtue down the aisle, where a crowd of healers had gathered outside, watching something above him, and, as he expects, he feels a sense of <em>knowing </em>dread settle in the pit of his belly, as he comes to stand with his healers, looking up at whatever it is that has caught their attention.</p><p>And, promptly sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation.</p><p>“<em>Isa</em>.” Raphael looks up at the boy, standing on the edge of the roof of his Infirmary, waving slightly when he waves down at him. “<em>Get down</em>.”</p><p>The Nephilim gives him a thumbs up.</p><p>And then, he jumps.</p><p>He’s had many occasions where he’s seen his life flash before his eyes, most of them are from the shenanigans his child gets into, but watching him free fall shaves years off his life, some of the healers around him scream as he falls, but he keeps his head about him, holding his arms out, and steps forward two steps, bending slightly when the boys lands, huffing as he catches him.</p><p>“You’re grounded.”</p><p>“Wha—But, dad!”</p><p>The Archangel shakes his head, carrying the young Nephilim forward, expecting the others to get back to his work. “Grounded. Definitely grounded.”</p><p>“Don’t you even want to know—”</p><p>“No, I don’t, you’re grounded.”</p><p>Isa huffs, falling limply in his arms. “For how long?”</p><p>“I don’t know yet. But, I know it’s going to be a long time.”</p>
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<a name="section0060"><h2>60. A Couple Of Polar Bears</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Isa shivers, rubbing at his arms, unlike his cousin, he couldn’t stand the chill as much as he could. “A—Adam, I—I don’t know a—about this!”</p><p>The Morningstar’s son grins at him, chipping a hole in the ice, kicking it with his heel to break it apart. “It’s be fine, as long as we’re in and out, it’ll be okay.”</p><p>He seems to consider it, and nods, grinning back at his cousin. “O—Okay. You’re r—right.”</p><p>They watch the churning water in the hole they’ve made, and share a nod, pulling their coats and boots off, their shirts up over their heads, and shimmying out of their jeans.</p><p>Adam turns to look at him. “Ready?” Isa nods, and they both turn back to the water, take a deep breath, and jump in.</p><p>It’s like running into a brick wall, it forces the breath out of him, and he opens his eyes under water, Adam stares back at him, his cheeks puffed up, they’ve got two minutes, two minutes before they can get out, and he stares back at him, it’s so cold that his body doesn’t think to shiver. Both of their eyes widen when hands break the surface of the water, long fingers curling around their upper arms, and pull them up and back onto the ice.</p><p>“You two are in <em>so</em> much trouble.”</p><p>Both Nephilim gulp at the sound of the Healer’s deep voice, looking down at he curls his arms around their waists, and yelping as he rockets them up with one massive swoop of his wings. They look up with him as they break through the clouds, gaining distance to the barrier between this world and the other. The remain as silently as the night as they soar across the sky, for his Infirmary, and stumble as they land and they’re set on their feet, dragged forward by the arms.</p><p>Oren and Akriel wait for them between two beds, two large tubs in front of them, as they pour steaming buckets of water into their tubs. He shoves them forward gently. “Into those tubs, you two.”</p><p>Isa and Adam nod silently, stepping forward, using the aid of the two oldest Virtues help to climb into their tub.</p><p>The Healer’s son chances a peek up at his father. “Dad….Dad, are <em>they</em> going to take care of us?”</p><p>“No, <em>I</em> am going to take care of you.”</p><p>He sighs in resignation. “That’s what I was afraid of.”</p><p>“What did you just say?”</p><p>“I said, thank you daddy.”</p><p>Raphael hums, nodding lightly. “I’ll be back, you two soak in there for a few minutes.”</p><p>Both Nephilim nod up at him, exchanging concerned looks, they’d <em>hoped</em> that the two Virtues would be the ones to care for them. They pat them on the heads, and they look up. “Good luck.” Oren and Akriel smile down at them and make their leave.</p><p>“Isa, do you think….”</p><p>“Oh, he’s <em>definitely</em> going to do <em>all</em> of them in the butt.”</p><p>Admittedly, Adam does whine, that’s what he was afraid of, <em>those</em> were the <em>worst</em> ones.</p><p>They soak in their warm steamy water for maybe ten minutes before Raphael returns, two towels hanging over his arm, and a pair of clean, dry clothes in his hand. “Get out and dry off.” They both scramble up from their tubs, reaching for a towel each, and step out to dry themselves off, trading out the towels for the clothes in his hands. “Get into those beds, there.” The two Nephilim nod, climbing in under the blankets, settling back against the pillows. The Archangel turns to a passing healer, requesting that them an another come to take the tubs away, and they nod, turning to gather another to do as was requested of them.</p><p>He steps up between the beds, seating himself in the chair between them, and turns to the cart resting there, opening the top drawer for the things he needs.</p><p>Both Nephilim whine at the eight shots he pulls out, four each, because they <em>know</em> where they’re going.</p><p>The Healer turns first to his blonde nephew. “Roll up.”</p><p>“Uncle Raaaph…”</p><p>“<em>Roll up</em>, Adam.”</p><p>The blonde Nephilim whines softly, but does as he’s told, rolling up onto his side, yelping slightly, it’s possibly more of a soft shriek, when he injects him, poking one in after another, it’s only a moment, but it’s the longest moment of his lifetime, and he rubs at his cheek as he rolls back down. “Oowww, Uncle Raph!”</p><p>“Oh, it’s not so bad, it was only a moment.”</p><p>“An extremely long moment.”</p><p>“It was a <em>normal</em> sized moment.” His Uncle brushes his curls back gently. “Get some sleep, little one, I promise there’s no more.”</p><p>“Swear?”</p><p>He nods lightly. “I swear.”</p><p>Adam smiles up at him, and he returns the smile in turn, rubbing a finger over his nose, before turning to his own child.</p><p>Isa stare up at him, shaking his head. “Nope.”</p><p>“Isa, you can either roll up, or I can push you up.”</p><p>“Guess you’re gonna have to push me up, then.”</p><p>Raphael sighs, but nods, and the boy yelps when he pushes him up, pulls the side of his lounge pants down, and pokes one in after another. Isa shrieks softly, trying to lean away from him, but he manages to finish, pulling the pants back in place, he lets the boy fall back in place, watching him rub at his cheek as he sets the empty syringes aside, reaching out to catch a tear with his thumb. “Oh, don’t cry, it wasn’t so bad.”</p><p>“I <em>haate </em>those ones!”</p><p>The Archangel chuckles softly. “I <em>know</em> you do, that’s why I use them when you do something stupid.”</p>
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<a name="section0061"><h2>61. The Curse Of Nightmares</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Raphael hums when he feels his bed move, he knows who it is, and turns over onto his side when they poke out from under the blankets, tucking themselves in his arms, against his chest, fingers curling in his night shirt. “Are you alright, my little one?” The Nephilim tucks himself in close, pressing his face into his dad’s chest, holding on as tight as he can. “Isa?”</p><p>“I had a nightmare.”</p><p>He yawns lightly, but squeezes the boy closer, offering comfort by physical reassurance. “Do you want to talk about it?”</p><p>“I don’t want to keep you awake, dad, you worked nonstop the last couple of days.”</p><p>The Archangel smiles, scratching at the back of his son’s head. “I’d stay up a thousand nights if it meant helping you.”</p><p>“I love you, dad.”</p><p>“I love you too, my little one, tell me what’s wrong so I can help.”</p><p>Isa turns slightly, pressing his ear to his chest, taking a deep breath. “I dreamed of the day you died, h—how you told me you’d be right back, b—but you never c—came back.”</p><p>“Oh, Isa, what brought this on?”</p><p>The Nephilim sniffles softly. “Y—Yesterday was the anniversary. It’s been three years now.”</p><p>“Oh, my little one, don’t think of that, think of now. I’m here, you’re laying with me in my bed, you’re curled in my arms. Think of that, think of now, not of what was.”</p><p>He yawns, rubbing at his eyes with a fist, before curling his fingers back in his dad’s night shirt. “Can I sleep with you, dad?”</p><p>“Of course,” warm lips press to his temple. “You’re always welcome to sleep with me. You know that.”</p><p>Isa nods sleepily, pressing in closer again. “Can it just be you and me tomorrow, dad, just us?”</p><p>“Yes, little one, we can spend the day together, just us.”</p><p>He smiles, closing his eyes, listening to the hum of grace and the heart beat in his dad’s chest. “I love you, dad.”</p><p>“I love you too, Isa.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0062"><h2>62. Grumpy Junior</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Now, dad, let’s talk about this.” The Nephilim backs up slowly, hands raised defensively, as the Archangel stalks forward slowly. “There’s no need to do things we’re going to regret.”</p><p>Raphael smiles lightly. “Oh, I <em>assure</em>, I will have <em>no</em> regrets.”</p><p>“Maybe not know, but you will later, in the dark of night, while your mind wanders over to how you tortured your own son.”</p><p>“I <em>don’t</em> think I will.” The Healer gains distance between them. “I will have no second thoughts. You’ve been grumpy all day, and, as your father, it’s my duty to turn your mood around.”</p><p>“Thanks, but no.”</p><p>“It’s funny that you think I was offering a choice.” Isa shrieks as the Archangel rushes forward, his fingers curling around his middle, and sweeps him up off his feet. “I was not.” He shrieks again as he’s tossed back on his dad’s bed, immediately on the defensive when he follows, both struggling with his shirt, one trying to pull it off and the other trying to keep it on, but, in the end, it’s the Archangel who wins that battle, because, if you ask Isa, he’s a cheating cheater who cheats, and digs his fingers into his belly, <em>knowing</em> he’d let go of his shirt to reach for that hand. He reaches up instead, to push at his father’s chest, and it shakes as he chuckles, curling his fingers around his small hands, and raises them above his head, hovering over him, chuckling softly as the Nephilim glares up at him. “It is my pleasure.”</p><p>“Dad, don’t you dare, don’t you <em>dare</em>.”</p><p>“Are you trying to <em>threaten</em> me?” He hums softly, finding amusement in his attempt to appear intimidating. “What will you do, huh, what are you going to do to me if I do?”</p><p>“I—I—”</p><p>“You’ll <em>what</em>?”</p><p>“I—I—you’ll just have to find out if it happens.”</p><p>“Oh, I feel <em>so</em> scared, a tiny little Nephilim is <em>threatening</em> me.” He smiles down at him. “<em>Whatever</em> shall I do?” Isa squirms as he slowly lowers himself. “I’m <em>quivering</em> in fear.” The Nephilim tries to pull away from his dad’s grip as he slowly lowers himself closer and closer. “I’m <em>petrified</em>.”</p><p>“Dad, you stay away from me! You stay awaaaaaahaaahahahahhahahahhahahahahaaa nohhohoohohohoo dahahahahhahaaad! Geheheheheet ohohoohohout! Gehehehehet ohohohohout! Aaahahahahahhahahahhahaa nanaahahahahahahahhahahahhahaha nohohohohoho! Dahahahahahaaad nohhohohohohoo! Gehehehheet ohhohohohout!”</p><p>The Archangel smiles into the side of his son’s neck, nibbling on the skin playfully, the boy shrieking with laughter under such an assault.</p><p>Isa tries to scrunch up, giggling and shrieking with laughter, trying to get him out as best as he can, but he only ends up trapping him there, which only adds to the torture. “Dahahahhahahaad! Stohohohohohop! Yohohohohou’re gohohohohoing toohohohohoho rehehehegreehehehheet thihihihis! Aaahahahahhahahha ahahahhahahahahaha ananaaahahahahahahhaha Ihihihihi swehehehheheheaaahahahahaar yohhohohohohou aahahahahhahaare!” He gets a vicious raspberry into his neck for an attempt at a threat and he promptly squeals like a child. “Eeeieieieiaiiaaiaahahahahahahhahahaa nohohohoohohoho aaahhahahahahahaheheieieieeiaeaiahhhahahhahahahaa nohhohohohohoho pleheheheheease nohohhohohot thohohohose! Eeieieieeieiiaiaiaaahahahhahahahahahhaa pleheheheheease nohohohohot thohohohose! Dahahahhaahaad eeieieiiaiaiaaaahahahahahhahahahaha Ihihihi’m sohhohohohohoorrryyy! Ihihihihi’m sohohohoorryyy! Eieieieeeiiaiaiaaahahahhahahahaha ahahahahhahahahaa pleheheheheease nohohohoot thohohohose! Pleehehehehhehehahaahahase!”</p><p>“That’s what you get for <em>trying</em> to threaten me.” Raphael pulls away from the right side and leans over to the left. “And, this is what you get for being a big grump all day.”</p><p>Isa knows he shouldn’t, but he has no brain to mouth filter, so he does. “I was just emulating you.”</p><p>“You were <em>what</em>?” His dad freezes, looking down at him closely, eyes narrowed dangerously. “You were <em>emulating </em>me?”</p><p><em>Shut up, Isa. </em>“Yep.” <em>Dammit, Isa.</em></p><p>“Are you saying <em>I’m </em>grumpy?”</p><p><em>It’s a trap, Isa, he’s leading you into a trap, be wise, think smart. </em>“If the shoe fits.” <em>Isa, you’re such a letdown.</em></p><p>Raphael stares down at him for a moment. “I <em>was</em> going to go <em>easy</em> on you. But, I’ve changed my mind.” And rushes down, burying his face in the side of his neck, going straight for the raspberries, because he <em>knows</em> the boy can’t stand them.  </p><p>Isa squeals, throwing his head back against the pillows, trying to scrunch his shoulder up. “Eeieieieiieiaiaiaiaahahahahahahahahhahaa hahahahahahahahahahhaaannaaaanananaaaahhahahahahahahaa dahahahahhahaaad nohohohohoho! Eeieieieieieieiaiaiaahahahahhahahaa aaahahahahhahahahahahaah I tahahhahahhaake ihihihihihit bahahahahhaack! I tahahahahhahaakeeeieieieieheheheehahahahahahahhaa ihihihihihit bahahahhahaack! Nohohohoho nohohohhohoot thohohohose! Pleheheheheeeaaahahahahhaaase! Ihihihihihihi’m sohohohoorry! Iihihihihi taahahahhaake ihhihihihihit bahahhahaack! Eeieieeieieieiaieaiiaaiahahahahahahahhahaa plehehehehhehehehheahahhhhahahase! Nohohohohohot thohhohohohohohose!”</p><p>He lifts the Nephilim’s arms above his head, holding both up with one hand, and flutters the fingers of the other over the boy’s left armpit, chuckling when he feels him pull at his grip, trying to yank his arms down. “You’re <em>really</em> going to get it now.”</p><p>The Nephilim shrieks, pressing his head back against the pillow, tugging desperately on his arms, trying to block those torturous fingers from his armpits. “Dahahahhahahaad nohohohohohoho! Nohohohoho nohohohohohot theheehehehehere! Dahhahahahahhahahad! Plehehehehheeease aahahahahahahhahaha ahahahahahhahahahahahahhaa aananananaaaahahahahahhahaahhaa dahahahahahhaad! Aaahahahahahahhahaha stohohhohohop stohohhoohohhoohoop ihihihihit! Dahahahhahahaad nohhohohohohoho ihihihihihiit tihihihihihickles! Dahahhahahhahhaad!”</p><p>“It does?” He moves over to the other armpit. “Does it tickle over here too?”</p><p>“Eeieeieeehehehehehhehehehhee yehehehehehhehhes yehehehehhehes ihihihihihiit dohhhohohohohohoes! Ihihihihihihit dohhohohohoes! Aaahaahhahahahahahahaha ahahhahahaahahahahaaha nnananaaaahahahahahahahahhahahahaha dahahahahahhahaad nohohohohot thehehehehehehere nohohohohot thehehehehere! Aaahahahahhahahahhahahahaha aahaahahahahahahhaahaha hhahahahahahahhaahahahaa naaaananaaahahahhahahahahhaha aahhahahahahahhaahhaa plehehehehheease! Plehehehehheeease!”</p><p>“This is what grumps like you get.”</p><p><em>Isa, do not respond. </em>“What do grumps like you get!” <em>God dammit, Isa. </em></p><p>His eyes widen when his dad leans over, and he squeals, drumming his heels into the blankets, when he buries his face into his left armpit and starts blowing those dreaded torturous raspberries. “EEEIEEIIEIAIEAIIAAAAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAA NOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHO NOHOHOHOHOOT THOHOHOHOOSE NOHOHOHOHOT THEHEHEHEHHEHEERE! IEEEIEIEIEIIEAIIAIAAAAHHAHAHHAHAHAHHAHA AAAHAAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHA IHIHIHIHIIT’S REHEHEHEHHEHAHAHEAHEAHAHAHAHALLY BAHAHHAHAHAHAAD THEHEHHEHEHEHEERE! EEEIEIEIEIIAIIAIAIAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA AHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAEEAAEEIEIEIEIEIIEIAIEAIAHAHHAHAHHAHAHA DAAHHAHAHAHAHHAHAD! DAHAHAHAHHAHAAD PLEEHEHEHEHEHEHEEASE! NOHOHOHOHOHOT THOHOHOSE NOHOHOHOHOT THEHEHEHEHEERE! EEIEIEIEIEIAIAIAIAIAAIAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHA AHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHHAAA AAEEEIAEAEAEIAEIAIAIIAAAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAA!”</p><p>Raphael chuckles. “How about over here?” And moves over to the other side.</p><p>Isa shakes his head, tugging at the grip around his wrists, squealing again, arching his back under the assault. “EEEIEIEIEAIIAEIAIAAAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAA DAHAHAHAHAHHAHAAD IHIHIHIHIHIT’S BAHAHHHAHAHAHHAHAD THEHEHEHEHEERE TOOOHOHOHOHOHOHOOO! EEIEIEIEAIIAIAIAAAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAA AAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAA ANANANAAAAHHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHA EEIEIIEIEIIIAIAIEIAEIAAAAHHHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHA DAHAHAHAHAHHAHAAD! IHIHIHIHIHIHI’M NOOHOHOHOHOHOOT GRUHUHUHUHUMPY AHAHAHHAANYMOOHOHOHOHOHOORE! IHIHIHHI’M NOHOHOHOHOHOHOT PLEHEHEHEHEEASE! EEEIEIEIIEIAIAIAIAAAHAHAHAHHAHAHHAHAHAA AHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHHAHAHAHAAEEAAEEIEEIAIEAIEIEIEIEEIAIAIAAAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHA IHIHIHIHIHII CAHAHAHAHAHAN’T TAHAHHAHAHAHAKE IHIHIHIHIHIT! PLEEHEHEHEHEHHEEASE NOHOHOHOHOHO MOHOHOHOHOHORE! DAHAHAHHAHAAD NOHOHOHOHO MOHOHOHOHOHORE! PLEEEHEHEHHEHEHEEASE! DAHAHAHHAHAHAAD PLEHEHEHEHEASE!”</p><p>The Archangel smiles, lifting himself, coming back to hover over him again, his grip on his wrists still solid. “You’re not grumpy anymore?”</p><p><em>Isa, just shake your head, no verbal response, just shake your head. </em>“No, because that’s your job.” <em>Motherfucker, Isa, why the fuck!</em></p><p>“Oh hoho, I <em>was</em> going to let you go, but that, that right there, that changed my mind.”</p><p>Isa curses himself and his lack of self-control and brain to mouth filter, when his dad lets go of his wrists, they stay, because the cheating cheater is holding them there with his grace and moves down to his belly. “Lets pay some attention here, shall we?”</p><p>“Dad! No! I take it back!”</p><p>“Ah, but you must be punished for <em>saying </em>it.”</p><p>“Would it help if I said I’m sorry?”</p><p>“I appreciate the apology, but no, it would not help.”</p><p>Isa giggles when large warm fingers wiggle over his belly, just hovering there, making him giggle in anticipation. “Dahahahaddy nohohoho!”</p><p>“Oh, yes, it’s coming.”</p><p>“Dahahhahaaddy, pleehehehheease nohohohoo!”</p><p>“Are you ready for it?”</p><p>The Nephilim shakes his head frantically, anything but that, anywhere but there. “Nohohohoho!”</p><p>“Yep.” The fingers touch down, wiggling and clawing into his belly, and he squeals brightly, throwing his head back. “There we are.”</p><p>“Eeeieieiieiieaiiaiaaahhahahahahahhahahaa nohohohohoho plehehehehehheease! Nohohohohot thehehehehere nohohohohoot theheheheheere! Aaahahahahhahahaha ahahahahahahahahahahha pleheheheheeieieieaiiaaiaahahahahahahhahahaha dahahahahhaaaddyyyy pleheheheheease! Ihihihii tahahahahake ihihihit bahahahahack! Sohohoho mahahhahaany rehehehegreehehehets! Ihihihi neheheheheed ahahahaha fihihihiiilteeheheheheer! Eeeiieieieiaiaiiaaahahahahahahhahahaa ahahahahhahahahahaaha aeieiieieiiaiaiaaiaahahahahahahhahahahahahaa pleheheheheease! Eeiieieiaiiaiaiaaahahhahahahahhaaha nohohohohot thehehehhe behehehheeelly! Eeieieiiaeiaiiaaahahahahahahahahaha ahahahahahahhahaah aaaahahahahahahhahahaa! Daahahahahahahhaaddyyy pleheheheheease! Prehehehehheetty plehehehehheease!”</p><p>“Still think I’m grumpy?”</p><p><em>Now, Isa, this is your chance, don’t screw it up. </em>“Sohohohohometihihihimes!” <em>Gosh darn it, Isa, why aren’t you listening to me?</em></p><p>The Archangel chuckles softly. “I can see we need to go somewhere more <em>memorable</em>.” He sits back, reaching for the boy’s thighs, curling his fingers in, his son’s laughter hitches. “How about here?” And he digs into the meat of his thighs. Isa <em>screeches </em>kicking his legs, squirming around wildly, cackling bright boisterous cackles. “Oh, yea, right here, this is the <em>best</em> spot.”</p><p>“DAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAAAAADDDYYYYY! NOHOHOHOHOHOOT THEHEHEHEHEHEHE THIHIHIHIHIHIGHS! NOHHOHOHOHOHOOT THEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEERE! EEEEEEEEEEIEIEIIAIEAIAEIAIAAIAAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAA! AAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHHEAHEHEAEHEEEEEEHEHHEHAHAEHAIAIAIAIAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHA IHIHIHIHI CAHAHAHAHHAAN’T TAHAHAHAHAHHHAAAKE IHIHIHIHIHIT! EEIEIEIEIAIEIAIAAIAIAAIAHAHAHAAAAAAAHAHAHAAHHHAIAIAIAIIEIEAIEIEEEEEEEEHEHEHHEHAHEHHEHAHHAHAHAHA! IHIHIHIHIHIHIHI’S SOHOHOHOHOOOOHOHOHOHOHORRY! YOHOHOHOHHOHOHOUR NEHEHEHEHHEHEHEEVER GRUHUHUHUHUHUHUMPY! EEEEIEIEIEIEEEEEEEEIEIIAIAIIAAIAAAAHAHAHAHHHAHAAAAAAAHAAHHAAHAHHAHAHAHAHAA! NEEHEHHEHEEEEHEHHEHEHEHEEVER! EEIEIEIEIEIAIIAIAIAIAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAA! NOHHOHOHOHOHOHO MOHOHOHOHOHOHORE NOHOHOHOHOHO MOHOHOHOHOHORE!”</p><p>Raphael smiles down at him, pausing his assault, and the boy pants, giggling crazily. “Still think I’m grumpy?”</p><p><em>Come on, Isa, you can do it. </em>“Nohoho! Nohoho! Nohoohohohot gruhuhumpy! Nohhohohot gruhuhumpy! Nohoho mohohore! Nohhohoho moohohhore!” <em>Good job, kid!</em></p><p>“Alright,” he gives those thighs one last squeeze, the Nephilim child shrieks, and he rolls off, falling next to him on the bed. Isa pants, curling his arms around himself when he can move his arms again, turning to curl up on his side, trying to get his giggling under control. “I think we’ve learned our lesson.”</p><p>“Sohohoho mehehean! Yohohour sohoho mehehean! Ohohoho myhyhy gohohoohod! Myhyhy behehehelly huhuhurts! Ehehehehhehehe mahhahahahake ihihihit stohohohohop!”</p><p>Chuckling softly, he tugs the boy up over him, pulling his arms away, he rubs soothingly at his belly. “Here, better?”</p><p>The Nephilim swallows a mouthful of giggles, takes a deep breath, and nods as he exhales, sprawling out limply over his father’s chest. “Yea, that’s better.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0063"><h2>63. Mending Whats Broken</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Okay, are you comfortable, little one?”</p><p>Isa nods, resting on his dad’s thigh, he’s nervous, this is the first time he’d going to have his wings groomed after he’d nearly pulled all the feathers out in his grief. “P—Promise you won’t be mad?”</p><p>“Oh, little one, I swear, I could never be mad, I understand.” Fingers scratch at his head lightly. “You just relax, I’ll take care of everything, you just relax and take comfort.”</p><p>“Okay, dad.”</p><p>He closes his eyes, feeling his dad lean over slightly, he knows he’s reaching for the bottle of oil, the cap pops off and it’s scent fills the warm room, he still can’t place it, but there’s definitely mint mixed in there, but that’s all that he can tell. His dad sets the bottle back down on the bedside table, he hears him rubs his hands together softly, and then they press to his back, massaging in gently, rubbing down along his spine, kneading into his lower back, before returning back up to his shoulders, thumbs press into his shoulder blades, rubbing firm soothing circles, then they move up to massage at his neck, rubbing soothing circles into his skin. And, he melts, sighing softly in comfort, it feels good, it feels <em>so </em>good, he’s had his wings groomed by a number of people, but his favorite was when his dad did it, his dad was <em>so </em>good at it, he was the <em>best</em>.</p><p>A finger strokes between his shoulders, he feels the slight pressure of his wings being released and pulled forward, and tenses slightly, waiting for the reaction, for anything, he <em>knows</em> it’s coming.</p><p>But there’s nothing.</p><p>Fingers rub into his right wing, lightly, lighter then they had on his back, but it’s still soothing, and he sighs again, the tension fading, and he melts against his dad again. Fingers rub over the bald spots for a moment, before they begin their work, his dad uses his grace to numb his wing, it tingles softly, but that’s all he feels, as he reaches for the tweezers to pull the broken shafts free.</p><p>Raphael works silently, humming to himself, loud enough for the boy to hear, it’s a soothing melody, as he tugs the shafts and quills free, collecting them in a bowl on the bedside table, he pulls the shredded feathers free, the ones that, while not broken are also not reparable, in the end, he ends up pulling more damaged feathers free then he’d wanted to, but the first step was ensuring the new feathers had the opportunity to come in.</p><p>Leaning over, he reaches for the scrub brush, dipping it in the soapy medicated water, he sits back, scrubbing light gentle circles, sanitizing and disinfecting the bald spots and raw skin. He gives soft words of comfort when the small Nephilim whines slightly, feeling the sting even over the numbness he’d applied to the injured appendage. “Sshh, little one, I’m almost through.” He makes quick work of scrubbing the irritated skin clean, leans over to trade out the scrub brush, momentarily, for a jar of ointment, to sooth the burn and keep infection from setting in, and massages the cream into the bald spots, securing bandages over the raw open skin, they’ll remain there for a week while the skin mends, then be removed as the new feathers begin to fill in. Trading out the jar of ointment for a bottle of oil, he rubs the remaining feathers gently, rubbing the oil into the individual feather, strengthening and coating them, reinforcing them.</p><p>Once he’s done with the right, he turns to the left, repeating the process all over again. Massaging the bald spots soothingly for a few minutes, before plucking out the shafts and quills, the remaining feathers that were too damaged to thoroughly fix, then he reached for the scrub brush, dipping it in the water again, and soothing the boy when he whines again as he scrubs, trades out the scrub brush for the jar of ointment and massages the cream in once more, and bandages the raw skin, before reaching for the oil to rub into the remaining feathers.</p><p>Isa mumbles softly, and the Healer smiles, tucking the boy’s mended bandaged wings away, wipes his hands on a hand towel, and threads his fingers through the young Nephilim’s curls, massaging his scalp lightly. The boy sighs deeply, rubbing his cheek against his thigh slightly, he’s nearly asleep, just about there.</p><p>“Mmm….Dad….Stop….”</p><p>“Sshhh, little one, go to sleep.”</p><p>The Nephilim gives a light sigh. “Mmmm….Don’t…Want…To….”</p><p>“Yes, you do, you’re nice and warm, very comfortable, your wings feel much better, you’re sleepy, don’t deny it, go ahead and take a nice nap.”</p><p>He smiles when the child yawns softly. “Mmm….’leepy…”</p><p>“Oh, you’re sleepy?”</p><p>“Mhmmm….”</p><p>The Archangel hums softly. “Do you want to take a nap with me?”</p><p>Isa hums softly. “’ap…..daddy….’anna…..’ap….w’th….y’u…”</p><p>Smiling, he pulls the boy closer, laying down himself, he pulls him up onto his chest, pulling the blankets up over him, before returning to massaging the back of the boy’s head. “Then, let’s take a nap, little one.”</p><p>“Kay……daddy….love….y’u…”</p><p>“I love you too, my little one, very much.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0064"><h2>64. That Time With The Scientists</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The first thing he registers when he comes to is the pain, the sharp overwhelming <em>pain</em>, there’s a beeping sound, he’s not sure what it is, he hurts, <em>everywhere </em>hurts, and he wants it to stop. How long has he been here, who are these people, how did he get here?</p><p>“Sir, he’s waking up.”</p><p>“Give him another dose, we need to finish our examination, he’s a fine specimen, it was thought his species were extinct, we don’t need him calling his sire.”</p><p><em>No, No I don’t want to go back to sleep, stop, I want you to stop. Dad, dad I need you. Help me. Someone help me. </em>Dark spots start to fill his vision. <em>Daddy, please, help me. Please….I want to come home…..daddy…please….</em>And the darkness takes over.</p><p>…</p><p>They had been in their Archangel’s office, discussing where to search for the boy next, when they heard it, a weak voice, projecting out to anyone who would listen, calling for help, calling for his father, and Raphael stood quickly, pulling at the bond with his son, using it to get his location, to find where he was being kept.</p><p>Once he’d managed to pin him down, they’d left, immediately.</p><p>…</p><p>“How <em>dare </em>you lay a <em>finger </em>on <em>my</em> child!” Raphael catches the one with the scalpel by the throat, as his Virtues rush on the others in the room, they’re taking no prisoners, anyone who stands in their path is taken down, they’ll leave the ones who survive for their judgement, Gabriel will not be merciful. The doctor in his grip falters, dropping the scalpel to curl the fingers of both hands around his wrist, as he lifts him up off his feet. “I could <em>snap</em> your neck and think <em>nothing</em> of it.”</p><p>The human wheezes. “…Subjects…..Sire…..How?....”</p><p>“He <em>called</em> for me.” He squeezes harder and the man gasps. “And, I <em>came</em> as <em>soon</em> as I heard him.”</p><p>“Fas….Fascinating….Are….You bonded?.......Is….It a….Telepathic….Bond?....Who….Are you?.......What’s….Your…Name?”</p><p>He growls lowly. “I am the Archangel Raphael.” The man’s eyes widen. “That’s right, you went after the son of an <em>Archangel</em>.” He squeezes harder. “You went after the <em>wrong</em> child.”</p><p>…</p><p>When he comes to again, the beeping is still there, he really wants to know what that is, hands are touching him, he doesn’t want them to touch him, please stop, please, please stop, he hears whining, is that him, is he the one whining?</p><p>“Sshhh, baby brother, you’re alright, it’s alright.” There’s a hand on his cheek, it’s gentle, much more then the other hands had been. “It’s alright, we’re going to take you home, it’s Ori, Ak’s here too, you’re alright, everything’s going to be alright.”</p><p>
  <em>Dad, where’s daddy, I want daddy.</em>
</p><p>Fingers stroke his cheek. “I’m here, my little one, I’m right here, everything is going to be alright, we’ll get you all patched up, you’re not leaving my side for some time to come.” A hand curls around his cheek, it’s warm, there’s tingles, that’s dad, that’s his dad’s hand. “Constantine, get those straps off his ankles.”</p><p>“Raph, should we really move him, like…like <em>this</em>.”</p><p>“I loath to move him in this condition, but I will not have him in this place any longer then necessary, I will hold it together with my grace until we reach the Infirmary.”</p><p>“What of <em>them</em>?”</p><p>“I will let Lucifer and Gabriel deal with them. My priorities lay elsewhere.”</p><p>…</p><p>Raphael rushes into his Infirmary, his son hanging limply in his arms, his chest split open, and quickly sets him down on an empty bed, mindful of his wings. He stares down at him for a long moment, just overwhelmed by what has been done to his son, his own child has been experimented on, tortured, cut open like a frog in a biology class. His own <em>child</em>. Things like this did happen in their world, supernatural creatures were always disappearing, dissected, investigated, and experimented on, but never had he thought, never in a <em>thousand years </em>had he thought his son would be one of them.</p><p>“Raph,” he’s pulled from his inner turmoil, his thoughts, by a hand on his shoulder, Oren is the solid force in his twirling thoughts, the calm to his turmoil, and he squeezes his shoulder. “Let’s get him patched up.”</p><p>“Right,” he nods lightly. “Right, we’ve got work to do, I apologize.”</p><p>“There’s no need for apologies, I’m just as shocked as you are, but it’s no time for us to lose our heads, we can do that after, he needs us now, as healers first, then as family.”</p><p>“Right, of course,” the Archangel nods, reaching up to pat his Captain’s hand, touched and proud of his ability to keep a level head through this shocking turn of events. “Alright, I’ll start stitching up his chest, you start a joint IV, Morphine for the pain, if he wakes while we work, the amount of pain he feels might send him into shock and we don’t need that, and Normal Saline, to keep him hydrated. Keep track of his heart rate and blood pressure, watch for any side effects, he’s never been given Morphine before, and I don’t know how he’ll react to it. Use a peripherally inserted central catheter, pump infusion, keep it precise and controlled, use the dosage you think is best.”</p><p>“Right, of course, we can do this, just keep focused on the task at hand, right now he’s a patient, not your son, treat him as you would any patient that comes in this condition, after we’re done, he’s your son again and you can smother him to your hearts content.”</p><p>Raphael snorts lightly, pushing the fact that he’s his son to the back of his mind, Oren is right, right now he’s a patient, a patient who needs dire help, being his son is secondary right now. “Let’s get to work.”</p><p>Oren nods, stepping out from behind him, first for the cabinet along the wall behind the beds, for the IV bags he needs, he grabs two rather large ones, they don’t want him running out anytime soon, and returns to the chair between his bed and the one next to him, setting the bags on the side of his bed, reaching for the cart, pulling it close, and pulling the second drawer open for the IV lines and catheters, turns the youth’s arm, inserts the catheter in one arm with expertise, inserting the pump in the end of the first bag, hanging it on the hook attached to the pole above his shoulder, passing the other to his Archangel at the boy’s other side, two separate medicines, two separate IV lines.</p><p>The Healer inserts the catheter with the same ease as his Virtue, making quick work of attaching the pump and hanging the bag, before turning for the cart at his side, pulling open the first drawer, for a curved needle and thick thread. Starting with the first flap of skin, he sets it, and makes the first stitch, it’s a slow process, over and over stitches, continuous, closely done, tight, pulling the edges of the two flaps together.</p><p>“Oren,” he calls as he focuses on the task at hand. “Tend to his wings.”</p><p>“On it.” The Virtue reaches into the third drawer for a pair of forceps, scooting pushing the cart back as he moves up to the head of the bed, carefully stretching the left wing out, and begins tugging the broken shafts and quills free, blood dots the holes as he leaves them, and he turns, reaching into the large bottom drawer for a small towel, and swabs away the gathering blood as he works, there’s many broken feathers, the poor boy’s wings were just starting to mend from him pulling most of them out, and now this, he would be devastated if he saw them now, he’d been so proud of his healing wings, checking on the new feathers once a week. He’d suggest Raphael to lock them away, so the child could not pull them forward, he didn’t need to see this. Once he pulls all the shafts and quills free, he turns back for the cart, for a new towel and a large dark bottle, disinfectant, and rubs the liquid over the raw bald patches that had cruelly been created, trades out the towel and bottle, for a jar of antibacterial cream from the fourth drawer, massages it gently into the skin, and finishes with applying the bandages. “Switch sides.”</p><p>The Archangel nods, tying off the first row of stitches, and they trade sides, Oren returning to his work on the boy’s right wing, and the Healer beginning the sutures on the other flap of skin, repeating the process over again, it’s slow and tedious process, but he wouldn’t stand for anything but perfection, call him a perfectionist if you’d like, his work was never sloppy, and it wouldn’t change now.</p><p>“I’m going to set his leg and bind it.”</p><p>He looks up, his sutures pausing. “His leg?”</p><p>Oren nods, leaning over the Nephilim’s right leg, touching it lightly, turning it slightly as he examined it. “They broke it, no doubt to watch his healing abilities, it’s a rather nasty break, I’m going to check for anymore injuries down here, you check up there.”</p><p>“Right,” he returns to his sutures. “Thank you.”</p><p>The Virtue hums in acknowledgement, there’s a loud snap and grinding sound, and admittedly, he cringes at the sound, thankful that the boy is still unconscious, they don’t know what drugs are currently running through his system, but being what he was, no <em>human</em> drugs would cause any lasting damage, not unless they were <em>outrageously</em> large doses, and no one would ever guess what those doses would be, not even the ones keeping him as their research victim.</p><p>“Scoot over, Oren, I’m going to draw some blood.” Zed’s voice announces his arrival, and he squats at the Nephilim’s bedside, setting a number of collection tubs on the bedside, withdraws the saline line for a moment to insert his withdraw line in, it’ll be fine for the seconds it’ll take him to withdraw what he needs. “See what’s running through his system so we can counter it.” He collects them swiftly, seven tubs, one right after another, and replaces the saline line once he’s finished. “Thanks, I’ll be back after I examine the blood.” And, makes his leave.</p><p>Raphael finishes the last sutures to the boy’s chest and sits back, setting the needle down in the tray on top of the cart at his side, and stretches, arching his back until it cracks, he’s sore from being in that hunched position for so long, but the sutures were perfectly done and perfectly placed, and he moves on the examine him for any other injuries. He feels from his neck and down his arm, around the IV catheter, and own his lower arm to his wrist, nodding to himself, feeling the shift and tenderness, definitely a broken wrist, and he continues down his hand, to be sure he gets everything if anything else is broken, he pulls the boy’s hand around, examining his swollen fingers, feeling at the dark bruises for anything out of place, it’s a clean break, thank god, and he nods to himself, pulling the cart closer.</p><p>“Oren, cast his leg.”</p><p>“Okie dokie.” Oren turns in his chair, raising his hand slightly, Akriel is the one who sees him first, and makes his way over. “I’m going to cast his leg; would you soak some plexiglass in a bowl of water and bring it over?”</p><p>“Sure, are we water proofing it?” Akriel nods. “We’re water proofing it. I’ll bring it over. I’ll make sure to bring enough just in case you need any for anything else.” He looks up to his Archangel. “You too, Raph?”</p><p>“Yes, thank you, Ak.”</p><p>“No problem, I’ll be right back.”</p><p>Zed makes his reappearance with a number of syringes. “Okay, I found what we’re working with, I have the counter for it.” He closes the IV line and pulls the catheter out once more, making quick work of injecting him with what he has, and replaces the catheter once more. “It’ll take a couple minutes, but it should take affect quickly, just forewarning, he may wake up.”</p><p>Raphael nods, waiting for Akriel to return before setting the bones. “We’ve finished the major injuries, so it should be fine, we’ve got him on Morphine, so even as we set any possible breaks, he may not feel it, not completely anyway.” He scoots up above him. “I’m going to bind his wings. I don’t want him to see them like this.”</p><p>Oren looks up at him. “I was going to say something along those lines, it’ll just upset him, and he doesn’t need that, not right now.”</p><p>The Archangel nods, waving his hand over the Nephilim’s wings, tucking them away in the metaphysical dimension they were usually kept on, sealing them there.</p><p>“Okay, here we go.” Akriel makes his return, Zed makes his leave, he’d like to stay at his baby brother’s side, but he’s got more work to do, he’ll return there when he’s done, just as the others would. The mental specialist hands one bowl of soaking plexiglass strips, and the other to his Archangel, looking the unconscious Nephilim over. “Need help?”</p><p>“We could always use help; would you check his other leg?”</p><p>“Sure, sure.” Akriel pulls a chair around from between the next two beds, and takes his seat, feeling from the boy’s hip and down his leg, slowly and precisely, feeling for anything out of place or any sign of tenderness, taking note immediately of the slight bending of the leg, it rests at an angle, and curls his hand around the boy’s knee, examining it with his grace, and it’s just as he suspected. “His patella is fractured, it’s displaced, I’ll have to set them back before binding it.” He moves down the leg, not wanting to miss anything before he casts his leg, humming to himself when he gets to his ankle. “Ankle’s broken too, it feels clean, I’ll set it before binding it.” He feels up his foot and nods, feeling nothing out of place, and scoots back up to his knee. “Raph, I need a towel, sterile wipe, and scalpel.”</p><p>The Archangel nods, passing him what he needs, returning to the business of setting the boy’s wrist and fingers, wrapping them in a thick layer of waterproof cloth, wraps his wrist, and begins the process of applying the strips of wet plexiglass around the broken appendages, the cast hardens quickly as it starts to dry out, and he layers it thickly.</p><p>Oren sets the bone in his leg, wraps it in the waterproof cloth, and beings the task of casting his leg.</p><p>Akriel wipes his knee clean and cuts in, mopping up the blood with the towel in his other hand, and sets the patella carefully when he’s got it open enough. “I need a needle and thread.” He reaches out for them when they’re held out to him, and passes over the used scalpel, it clangs as it’s dropped in the pan on the cart, and sews his knee closed, sets his ankle, and gestures for the bowl of plexiglass Oren has, before beginning the process of casting his leg, from just above his knee down to his foot, making sure it layered thickly.</p><p>Once they’re finished, they sit back, Oren pulls the blankets up over him gently, to keep him warm, and they just sit back and watch him, waiting for him to wake up. Zed returns when he’s done, pulling a chair up on Oren’s other side, and Constantine pulls one up between the mental specialist and his Archangel. Ephraim is the last one to make his way over, pulling a chair up to sit at the foot of his bed, and they wait patiently, for what feels like an eternity, for any sign of life, other then the rise and fall of his sutured chest.</p><p>It’s deep in the night, when he begins to show signs of waking, and their soft conversation comes to a silence as they turn their attention to him, leaning in close when he moans softly, the fingers of his good hand twitch lightly, and they scoot closer, urging him to open his eyes.</p><p>They’re glossy, he’s very heavily drugged, but they flutter open, staring at them in silence, his eyes moving between them slowly, until they meet their Archangels, and tears flood into his glossy bright blue eyes.</p><p>“Oh, little one, don’t cry.” Raphael leans in closer, brushing the boy’s wild curls back soothingly, pressing a firm kiss to his forehead. “It’s alright. You’re alright. We’ve got you. Everything’s going to be alright.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0065"><h2>65. Alcatraz Escapee</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He ducks back against the outside stone wall, as a group of officers run passed, the sirens blaring and spot lights searching, waiting for them to fade off in the distance before bolting, holding his beanie over his curls, he turns to look over his shoulder at the barking behind him, his eyes widening, they brought the hounds, and he turns, running down the dock, coming to the end, he turns, as they draw nearer and nearer, shouting orders at him, running down the prison dock at him.</p><p>He didn’t get this far to go back to that cramped cell.</p><p>Turning, he dives into the frigid churning water, swimming out a few feet before he resurfaces. Flashlights zoom over the waters surface, searching him out, and the sound of a boats motor revving up, to search San Francisco Bay for him.</p><p>Stuffing his favorite beanie into his pocket, he turns, swimming forward, he’d be gone by the time they got there.</p><p>…</p><p>“Raph, have you seen or heard from Isa recently?”</p><p>The Archangel doesn’t so much as spare him a glance. “Who?”</p><p>“Isa.” Oren frowns. “Your son.”</p><p>Raphael looks up at him at that word. “My son?”</p><p>“Your <em>son</em>, your <em>child</em>, <em>Isa</em>,” he raises his hands. “Have you heard from your <em>son</em>, recently?”</p><p>His Archangel frowns, finally lowering the chart he’d been writing in, tilting his head as he thought on that matter. “No…No, I have not.”</p><p>“Raph, you can’t <em>forget</em> about him, he’s your <em>son</em>, you’re the <em>only</em> parent he has left in this world.”</p><p>He gives him an affronted look. “I <em>didn’t</em> forget about him!”</p><p>Oren crosses his arms. “Oh, yea, then where is he?”</p><p>Raphael stares at him for a long moment. “I….I don’t know.”</p><p>“Hey, guys!” They both turn at the sound of the voice, youthful and happy, and the subject of their conversation appears there, a soggy beanie pulled down over his dripping curls, a buttoned up blue chambray shirt soaked through, blue and white trousers darkened from water, and issued shoes on his feet. “How’s it goin’?”</p><p>Oren stares at him for a long moment. “Isa, it’s been two months since we’ve seen you, where’ve you been?”</p><p>“Prison.” He replies brightly. “Alcatraz, to be exact, just escaped, it’s gonna go down in the history books.”</p><p>Raphael stares at the boy in awe, he knew he’d been a <em>tad</em> neglectful, but, perhaps it has been more then he’d thought it had been. His Captain turns to look at him, smacking him on the arm, pointing a finger at the dripping boy when he turns to look at him. “His <em>delinquency</em> is <em>your</em> fault!” He smacks him again. “Pay <em>attention</em> to your <em>son</em>!” And again. “I can’t <em>believe</em> I have to <em>tell</em> you this!” And once more. “Your <em>son</em> was in <em>prison</em> and <em>you</em> didn’t even <em>know</em>!” One last time. “<em>He</em> comes before <em>everyone</em> else; you <em>need</em> to take care of this!”</p><p>The Archangel nods mutely, turning his attention back to the Nephilim boy before them, smiling at this as though this was an everyday occurrence. “What were you imprisoned for?”</p><p>“Murder.”</p><p><em>“Isaiah!” </em>Neither are sure who says it, and the boy’s smile drops, looking between them both carefully, it his father that continues. “I’ve done you an extreme disservice, boy, I apologize, I will deal with this immediately.”</p><p>“Deal with what?” Isa yelps as he’s tugged forward by the arm, his father dragging him forward, first to a cabinet of dry clothing, then back to his office. “Dad, what are we doing?” His dad leaves him to stand in the middle of his office, setting the dry clothes on his desk, and makes his way over to the closet, pulling a belt out from within. “Dad?”</p><p>“We are going to explore the consequences that come with every action.”</p><p>He doesn’t quite like the implications of that statement. “W..What?”</p><p>Raphael turns to look at his son, his <em>delinquent</em> son, and raises the belt. “I’ve been ashamedly neglectful, I intend to rectify that, I am very disappointed in you, you are going to lower your trousers, bend over the edge of my desk, and face the consequences of your actions.”</p><p>“W—What?”</p><p>“You heard me just fine, Isaiah, do as your told.” Isa swallows thickly, nodding slightly, and kicks his shoes off as he steps forward, tugging his trousers down as he was told to, and leans over the edge of his dad’s desk. He shrieks, when the lashing of the belt comes down across his wet bare bottom, and jumps forward against the edge of the desk, his hands flying back to cover himself. “Hands in front of you, Isaiah.”</p><p>Slowly, he returns his hands to the desk in front of him, and shrieks again, when the belt comes down once more. Again and again, one right after another, and soon enough, he’s sobbing into his hands, begging him to stop, it’s a blessing, five lashes later, that it does stop, the belt is set down, and he’s directed to sit in the chair behind him. “Sit there, three minutes, no squirming.”</p><p>The Nephilim nods, sobbing into his hands, the struggle to refrain from squirming is a great one, but he doesn’t want to know what will happen if he does, he doesn’t want to get the belt again, so he faces the struggle head on.</p><p>The three minutes seem to last a lifetime, and then he’s told he can stand, and he <em>jumps</em> up, rubbing miserably at his bottom as he bounces in place.</p><p>A gentle hand pulls his beanie off and a towel rubs over his wet curls. “Get changed into those dry clothes, my child, before you catch yourself a chill.”</p><p>Isa nods, quickly stripping from his soaked clothes and stepping into the dry, looking up when a blanket is curled around his shoulders, looking up to meet his father’s warm emerald eyes. “Just looking at you like this gives me a chill, we’ve got to get you warmed up, come, my little one,” he’s guided around, curled into his dad’s side. “We’ll get you tucked nice and warm into a bed, something warm to eat, and a nice mug of hot cocoa to warm you up.”</p><p>“With whipped cream and little marshmallows?”</p><p>“Of course, I’m not a heathen, it’s not a proper mug of cocoa unless there <em>is</em> whipped cream and little marshmallows.”</p><p>He smiles, leaning into his dad as the walk back out on the floor. “You’re the best, dad.”</p><p>“I haven’t been, though, have I?” Raphael guides the boy down into a bed, tucking the thick blankets up under his chin, and sits on the edge, brushing the child’s curls back. “I’ve been a terrible father to you, no longer, though, you should always come first, and you will, I will keep a closer eye on you from here on.”</p><p>“I’m sorry, dad.”</p><p>The Archangel smiles down at him, brushing his knuckles over his cheek. “I’m sorry, too.”</p><p>“It’s okay, dad.”</p><p>He smiles, leaning over to press a kiss to his temple. “I thank you for your forgiveness, little one, I will do better by you from now on.”</p><p>“Me too.”</p><p>“We’ll both be better together.” He pats his son’s cheek. “I’ll go get you your meal and drink, you rest here, and I’ll be right back.”</p><p>Isa smiles up at him. “Okay, dad.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0066"><h2>66. A Taste Of Your Own Medicine</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Since you seem to like making others unwell, perhaps you need a taste of your own medicine.” Raphael takes hold of the boy’s arm, injecting the needle in, pushes the stopper down, injecting the substance into his body. “See how you like it.”</p><p>Isa squeaks, looking down at his arm as his dad rubs a bandage over the injection site, looking back up to him in horror. “What was that?”</p><p>The Archangel caps the needle and turns to set it on his desk. “Influenza.”</p><p>“<em>You gave me the flu, again!”</em></p><p>“You gave Dean Winchester tuberculosis <em>again</em>, so, yes, you get to go through the <em>flu</em> again, and you, unlike the hunter, I will <em>not</em> heal.”</p><p>“B—But that’s not fair!”</p><p>He grabs him by the nose, pulling him closer. “Neither is you giving someone deadly diseases.” And tugs him around towards the bed. “If I were you, I’d get a good nights sleep, you’re not going to be feeling very well come morning.”</p><p>“Daaaad, whyyyyyy!”</p><p>He rubs the boy’s head, guiding him closer to the bed. “To teach you to stop giving people diseases just to make them sick.”</p><p>“I haaaaaate being sick!”</p><p>“I know, that’s why it’s the perfect punishment, now, into bed, ill little ones need lots of sleep.”</p><p>Isa sniffles softly, climbing up onto his dad’s bed, climbing under the blankets, pouting as he falls to lay against the pillow. “Dad, you’re not being nice.”</p><p>“I could have given you tuberculosis, I think the flu was a very even trade off, I wouldn’t complain.”</p><p>The boy scoots in closer when he slides in next to him, raising his arm for him to duck under, resting his head on his chest. “Daaaad.”</p><p>“Sshh, Isa, it’ll only be for a week, perhaps a week and a few days.”</p><p>His son falls silent for a moment, rubbing a finger over his emerald pendant. “You’ll take care of me, right?”</p><p>“Don’t I always?”</p><p>…</p><p>Waking up the next morning had been a trial, he didn’t feel good, he felt bad, he just wanted to sleep, curled up nice and warm in his dad’s arms. His throat hurt and his stomach hurt, and his head hurt, he didn’t want to move, he didn’t want to get up, and he didn’t want his dad to get up.</p><p>But, Raphael pressed a kiss to his head, and gently pried him away to allow him to get up and get ready for the day. He dressed silently, washed his face, and pulled his cloak out of his closet, before returning to his bedside, easing the pitiful boy up. Isa whines, rubbing at his eyes with his fists, wanting to lay back down again, and he smiles lightly, let it not be said he didn’t know how to punish his son in a manner that would leave a lasting effect. Curling his cloak around him, he lifts the pitiful boy up into his arms, the Nephilim sniffles and curls around him, resting his head on his shoulder, and he turns, stopping first for the charts on his desk, and then opens the door to make their way down the hall.</p><p>Oren raises an eyebrow when they make their appearance, the boy sleeping peacefully on his shoulder, wheezing softly through a stuffy nose. “He come down with something?”</p><p>The Healer chuckles softly, making his way down the main aisle, holding the sleep Nephilim in his arms. “I gave him the flu.”</p><p>“You <em>gave</em> him the flu?”</p><p>He nods, leaning over to set the boy down on the bed before his desk, cooing softly when he stirs, tucking his cloak around him, then reaching down to pull the blankets up over him. “He gave Dean Winchester tuberculosis again.”</p><p>The Virtue snorts softly. “How does he keep getting into your cabinet?”</p><p>“Honestly,” he straightens, tossing the charts on his desk. “I think he made another key. I’ve got to change the lock.”</p><p>“I wouldn’t be surprised if he did.”</p><p>Raphael nods, looking down at the sleeping boy. “I swear, when he’s sick, it’s like he’s a small boy again.”</p><p>“He <em>is</em> a small boy.”</p><p>“You <em>know</em> what I mean.”</p><p>…</p><p>He wakes sometime later, and feels miserable, whining into consciousness, rubbing at his eyes lightly, he pushes himself up, looking around the room, watching healers go about their duties.</p><p>“Hey, baby brother.” Isa turns at the voice, sniffling softly, and Zed smiles at him, sitting in the chair at his bedside. “How are you feeling?”</p><p>He glares. “Like shit.”</p><p>“Language, little one,” Zed leans forward. “Tell big brother what hurts.”</p><p>The Nephilim whines softly. “My belly hurts, and my head, and my throat, I don’t feel good, big brother.”</p><p>“I know you don’t, little guy, but I got just what you need.” He turns for the vials resting on his bedside table, picking three from the stock, uncaps them, and hands them over one by one, instructing him to drink them, he takes the empty vials back. “Got a bit of a stuffy nose, there.”</p><p>Isa nods slightly, rubbing at his nose with the back of his hand, leaning forward when a cloth is held out, curled around his nose. “Give a nice blow.” He blows his nose, his older brother cleans him up, and turns to set everything back down on the bedside table, and he returns to him with a jar in hand. “Here, let me rub some of this on your chest, the aroma will help clear your sinuses.” Isa nods, lifting his shirt up, looking down at best as he can as his older brother rubs some of the concoction on his chest, and lowers his shirt once he’s done, laying back down as he’s gently guided to, the cloak pulled back down, and the blankets back up. “You get some more sleep; we’ll have a nice hot bath and some soup prepared for you when you wake up.”</p><p>“Okay, Z.”</p><p>…</p><p>When he wakes up again, there’s a tub resting between his bed and the next, someone’s humming as they pour steamy hot water into the tub, there’s bubbles in the water, and he pushes himself up, rubbing at his eyes again.</p><p>“Hey, baby brother.” That’s Akriel’s voice, and he turns to look up at him, the mental specialist smiles down at him. “You look miserable.”</p><p>“Ak, I don’t feel good.” He rubs at his cheek lightly. “Dad’s being mean.”</p><p>“Well, he told us what you did, I think the punishment fits the crime.”</p><p>“Why are you taking <em>his</em> side?”</p><p>“I’m not taking <em>anyone’s</em> side, I’m just saying, I think it’s justified.”</p><p>Akriel sets his bucket down and crosses around from behind the tub. “Come on, let’s get you into the tub, a nice hot bath will help you feel better.”</p><p>He nods, slowly pulling the blankets aside, and his dad’s cloak, and turns over the edge of the bed, resting his feet on the floor. His older brother helps him pull his dad’s shirt up over his head, step out of his drawers, and stand from the bed, climbing into the bubbly bathwater. The hot water is soothing to his aching body, and he sighs, resting back, the steam clearing his stuffy nose.</p><p>Fingers scratch at his head lightly, soothingly, and he looks up at the angel sitting in the chair beside him. “Look at the bright side, you have <em>us</em> doting on you, not many can say they get <em>this</em> level of care.”</p><p>“That’s true.”</p><p>“See, you’ve got it good, I mean, you’ve got the <em>Archangel of Healing </em>at your beck and call, who else can make that claim?”</p><p>Isa leans into the touch of the scratching of his head. “Just me.”</p><p>“That’s right, just you, so it’s a tad unfair, sure, but you’ve got the <em>best</em> Healer in <em>existence</em> watching over you.” He scratches down behind his ear, where he knows the boy likes it, and smiles down at him when he tilts his head to look up at him. “And, being <em>who</em> he is, your dad knows <em>all</em> the best remedies to make you feel better.”</p><p>“That’s true, too.”</p><p>“See, so it’s not so bad.” He scratches down to the back of his neck. “Now, let’s have you soak for a bit, then we’ll get you back in bed, I’ll rub some more of Zed’s ointment on your chest, and we’ll have some lunch.”</p><p>…</p><p>His dad rubs his back as he regurgitates his lunch into the bucket at his bedside, rubbing his back and offering soft words of comfort to him as he throws up the contents of his stomach, crying between each heave, this is his <em>most</em> least favorite part of being sick.</p><p>When his heaves come to an end, he breaths a sob, straightening up again, looking over at his dad miserably, sobbing as he wipes his mouth clean.</p><p>“D—Daaadddyyyyy! M—Make me—e b—b—better!”</p><p>Raphael coos at him softly, pulling his child into his arms, rubbing his back soothingly as he sobs into his chest. “Sshhh, little one, it’s alright, I hope you learn from this.”</p><p>“Daaaaddddyyyyyy pleeeeeease! Pleeeeeeease! I don’t liiiiike it!”</p><p>“I know you don’t, my little one, I know, you’ll be better in no time.”</p><p>Isa breathes a sob. “Heeeeeeal meeeee! Pleeeeeease daaaaaaddddyyyy! Pleeeeeease!”</p><p>He presses a kiss to the top of the boy’s head. “No, I will not heal you.”</p><p>
  <em>“Pleeeeeeease! Pleeeeeease daaaaadddyyyyy!”</em>
</p><p>“You will learn nothing if you don’t suffer just a bit, I’m sorry, but I’m not going to heal you.” He gently turns the boy around, laying next to him in bed, holding him close. “But, I will stay with you.” The Archangel scratches at his sons head gently, softly urging him to calm down, and slowly the sobs subside, and he just lays there, wheezing softly against his chest, his fingers curled in the front of his tunic. “Go back to sleep, my little one, you need as much sleep as you can get.”</p><p>“Daddy, I can’t sleep, my tummy still feels funny.”</p><p>“You need to relax and move your focus elsewhere; do you hear my heartbeat?”</p><p>Isa nods lightly. “Yea, daddy, I hear it.”</p><p>“Good, now, I want you to close your eyes, and just focus on the sound of my heartbeat.”</p><p>“Okay, daddy.”</p><p>…</p><p>Oren’s there when he wakes up again, with a hot water bottle for him to lay on, and he takes it happily, laying limply on his bed as his older brother rubs at his back soothingly, humming under his breath, massaging him gently.</p><p>…</p><p>Dad eats supper with him, he has applesauce, bananas, and toast, his dad’s a nice guy, and eats the same thing. This time the food stays down, and he sleeps for a while longer, before his dad comes to get him so they can return to the Villa.</p><p>Isa curls around him much as he had earlier that morning, resting his head on his shoulder, the boy <em>loathed</em> being sick, he’d most definitely think twice about injecting Dean Winchester with anything in the future.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0067"><h2>67. The Other Cheek</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Isa, my child,” he cradles the boy’s left cheek in his hand. “It’s been nearly a week and you haven’t uttered a single word in all that time, is everything alright?” The Nephilim stares up at him with wide bright blue eyes and nods firmly. “Isa, I want you to verbally respond.” The boy stares at him and shakes his head. “Isaiah, I want a verbal response.” He curls his hand around the boy’s right cheek, and there’s a pitiful cry, muffled, and he immediately withdraws. “Isa?” He looks him over critically. “You’re <em>hiding</em> something from me.” The boy shakes his head quickly. “Yes, yes you are, what are you hiding from me?”</p><p>His son tries to back up a step, but he stays him, curling a hand around the back of his neck. He eyes him critically, carefully, and sees the slight shimmer of grace, his son is masking something, he’s using his grace to keep something from him.</p><p>Raphael shakes his hand, waving his hand before his face, as though waving away a curtain.</p><p>And he stares. Someone has harmed his child, someone has <em>tortured</em> his child, and he’d thought to hide it from him.</p><p>He rubs a finger over his sewn lips, it’s sloppy craftsmanship, there’s tearing and ripping. His main concern is the right side of his face, it’s been <em>melted</em>. Skin, muscle, and tendons hang freely, there’s a gaping hole in his cheek, he can see his lower jaw bone, and he turns his head slightly to get a better look. “Oh, my little one, why didn’t you bring this to my attention, how you must have suffered.”</p><p>The Archangel looks back around, into his watering bright blue eyes, and he signs with shaking hands. <em>‘I was scared. I didn’t…I didn’t want it to hurt again.’</em></p><p>“Oh, my little one, I’m so sorry, I can fix this, I can make it better again.” He guides him forward. “Come, let me help you.” He guides the boy over to an empty bed, helping him lay down against the pillow, and pulls the chair around to sit down himself. “I’m going to start with your cheek, alright, that’s my main concern right now.”</p><p>
  <em>‘Are you….Are you going to let it heal on its own?’</em>
</p><p>“No, little one, no, I’m just going to heal it, now, you might feel a burning sensation as the everything closes up.” Isa nods, flinching when his dad curls his hand around his cheek, whining pitifully when it starts to burn, it’s nearly unbearable, and his dad reaches around to hold him in place by the other cheek, and tears make his eyes sting as they build up. “Sshhh, it’s alright, I know it hurts, I know, it’s alright.” Tears slip free and deft fingers swipe them up before they can truly fall. “Do you want me to hold you?’</p><p>He nods, and Raphael smiles down at him, stroking his other cheek. “I’ll hold you close as soon as I’m finished.”</p><p>That seems to appease the young Nephilim, he nods lightly, whining again as the burning sensation intensifies, it’s only for a moment, and then it fades, he licks his cheek curiously, smiling as best as he can when he feels the inside of his cheek.</p><p>“Okay, I’m going to snip the stitches and pull the thread out.”</p><p>Isa nods, watching his dad open the first drawer for a pair of clippers, and leans over him, focusing on the stitching, he whines at the tension on the thread, reaching up to curl his fingers around his dad’s arm, he hums softly, comfortingly, snipping at the tight stitches carefully, trying not to cause too much damage, more then had already been caused, and pulls the loops of thread out as he works, until his hand is slightly full, and he turns to set the thread loops down in the tray on top of the cart, before returning to his work. The Nephilim watches his dad’s eyes, as they move every time he moves on to a new stitch, squeezing his arm tightly.</p><p>He opens his mouth as soon as the last stitch is pulled freed, still clutching at his dad’s arm, and reaches up with his other hand to rub at his lips, bright blue eyes look up when a hand catches his, and his dad shakes his head. “Don’t touch it, I’m going to heal it, this shouldn’t as unpleasant as it had been previously.”</p><p>Raphael curls his hand around the boy’s mouth, pulling at his grace, and the boy whines again, it still burns just a tad, but it wasn’t as bad as it was when he’d healed his cheek, and it doesn’t take nearly as long as it had there either, and he pulls away once the skin is healed, the holes closed, and dips a rag into the bowl of water on the cart, to rub the dried blood away, rubbing circles up over his healed cheek to rub away the dried mess there too, drying it with his sleeve, he pats the hand curled around his arm. “Come here, my little one, come here.”</p><p>Isa climbs from the bed and over into his dad’s lap, pressing in close to his chest as arms wrap around him, lips pressing firmly to the side of his head, a hand curling around the other side. “I’m sorry, my little one, I’ll will find those responsible, and they will face my wrath for laying a hand on you.” He pulls him in close. “But, first, I will hold you close, until you want me to let go.”</p><p>“I don’t want you to let go, yet.”</p><p>“Then I shan’t.” He presses another firm kiss to the side of the boy’s head. “I will hold you for as long as you want me to.”</p>
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<a name="section0068"><h2>68. The Healers Son Is NOT A Good Patient</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Isa, please, I just have to take your temperature.” The younger healer was trying, she well and truly was, she had assumed, being the Healer’s son, he’d be more cooperative, and thus, had volunteered to take care of him when none of the Virtues and the Healer could not. She was wrong. She was <em>very </em>wrong, and had so many regrets, starting with the one where she volunteered to take care of the Nephilim. “It’ll only take a moment.”</p><p>The Healer’s son bites his lip, shaking his head, refusing to let her do what she had to do, his throat hurt when he opened his mouth, and he wanted no part in it.</p><p>
  <em>“Please?”</em>
</p><p>He shakes his head again and she sighs deeply, lowering her arm, resting her hand with the thermometer in her lap.</p><p>She blinks in surprise, when charts are held out to her, and she takes them obediently, looking up into the Healer’s emerald green eyes. He smiles down at her, stepping around her chair, reaching into the first drawer of the cart, withdrawing another thermometer, and her eyes widen when he tugs the blankets back, forces the boy up onto his side, tugs his pajama bottoms down, and Isa yelps, clenching up, when the thermometer is inserted into his bottom.</p><p>It takes a minute before he pulls it out, rights the boy’s pants, and lets him fall back into place. “One hundred and one point seven.”</p><p>…</p><p>“Sir,” Raphael looks down at the small voice of the little healer taking care of his son. “He won’t let me give him his medicine.”</p><p>Nodding, he passes his charts to the healer next to him and allows her to guide him to his son’s bedside. Isa’s eyes widen when he appears, as they should, and he says not a word as he pulls the cart closer, with the injections resting on top, rolls the boy up, tugs the side of his bottoms down, and inserts the five injections, one after another, into his left butt cheek. The Nephilim cries out, first at the feeling of the shots in his bottom, and then at the feeling from his throat for crying out in the first place.</p><p>The Archangel pulls the blankets back up over him, and leans over to brush his curls back, he’d like to be the one caring for him, but he was just too busy at the moment. “It’s alright, my little one, I know your throats sore.” He turns to the bedside table, for the mug of hot tea resting there, and takes it in hand as he turns back to the Nephilim. “Here, sip at this, it has honey in it, it’ll help soothe your throat.”</p><p>…</p><p>He looks down at the tug on his sleeve. “Yes, Ansiel?”</p><p>The little healer curls her hands together. “He won’t eat.”</p><p>“I see,” Raphael nods to his Captain as he turns to follow his young healer to his son’s bed. Isa whines at the sight of him, ducking down under his blankets, afraid of what he’ll do this time, he’d threatened to put a feeding tube in once, he hadn’t intended to make true on his threat, but the boy doesn’t know that. The child doesn’t feel well, he can see that clear as day, so no threats today, he’s not that cruel. He sits on the edge of his bed, picks up the bowl of soup from the bedside table, and turns to the little Nephilim laying in the bed. “Here, little one, you’ll feel better with something in your belly.”</p>
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<a name="section0069"><h2>69. Reluctant Reveals</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <ol>
<li><strong>Pulling off sunglasses to reveal a black eye.</strong></li>
</ol><p> Archangel and Nephilim stare at each other intently, both with their hands on their hips, and Oren resists the urge to laugh at them with great difficulty.</p><p>“You’re hiding something from me, child.”</p><p>Isa gasps. “I am <em>not</em>.” He tilts his head. “How dare you <em>accuse</em> me of such a thing.”</p><p>Raphael narrows his eyes. “Why are you wearing sunglasses?”</p><p>“Everyone wears sunglasses, what’s so suspicious about that?”</p><p>He hums softly. “At ten-thirty in the night?”</p><p>The Nephilim bites his lip and does nothing to stop him when the Healer reaches up to gently remove the glasses, sighing gently as he takes hold of his son’s chin, turning his head slightly, eyeing the bruising around the boy’s eye. “What happened here?”</p><p>“What happened <em>where</em>?”</p><p>“Don’t play coy with me, child, you know exactly what I’m talking about.”</p><p>His son hums softly. “I ran into a door handle.”</p><p>“You ran into a <em>door handle</em>?”</p><p>Isa nods slightly. “Yep.”</p><p>“I see,” he leans over to his desk, pulling the first drawer open, withdrawing a small hand held mirror, and holds it up in front of the boy’s face. “You see this, right here?” He points to a small red line just under his eyebrow. “You see that?”</p><p>He bites his lip again. “Yep, I see it.”</p><p>“Do you know what this is?”</p><p>Isa sighs softly. “A cut.”</p><p>“Good boy, you do know what it is, there are two ways you could have gotten a cut there, it was either a very <em>sharp</em> door handle, or the offending object that struck you was wearing a ring.” The Archangel sets the mirror down and returns his hands to his hips. “Care to try again?”</p><p>The Nephilim stares up at him with his good eye, the other semi swollen shut, and he stares for a good solid minute. “I got punched in the eye.”</p><p>“Mhm, and by whom?”</p><p>The Healer’s son sighs softly, looking down to his feet, his hands falling from his hips, scuffing his sneaker against the floor. “By some older kid at school.”</p><p>“Just as I thought it was,” Raphael sighs softly. “Did you start this altercation?”</p><p>“Not <em>technically</em>…..”</p><p>“Elaborate, Isa.”</p><p>Good, not the full name, he’s agitated, but not angry. That’s good. It’s better for him that way. “Well, this guy was messing with this new girl, he was saying some pretty unsavory stuff to her, you know, and I told him to back off, and he told me to mind my own, but the girl was really uncomfortable and he kept advancing on her, so I shoved him back and told him to beat it, and he punched me, and I punched him back, and then we got into a fight, and I’m suspended for a week.”</p><p>“Isaiah.” <em>Yikes, the full name.</em></p><p>“Dad, I’m sorry, I know you don’t like it when I get into fights, but this guy was being a real perv and this girl was scared and no one else was stepping up to the plate so I needed to do something, I couldn’t just stand by, please don’t make me get the belt!”</p><p>Raphael sighs softly, shaking his head lightly, as he lifts the small Nephilim teenager up to sit on the edge of his desk. “I’m not mad at you, and, no, I will not make you get the belt. Yes, I don’t like you getting into fights, but this time I’ll let it go, because you did so to defend someone.” He pinches the boy’s nose lightly, shaking his head slightly. “Just don’t make a habit of it, next time, get someone of authority, okay?”</p><p>“Okay, dad.” Isa tilts his head, trying to lick his dad’s palm, and he chuckles, lifting his hand away slightly, pinching the boy’s nose just a bit firmer, and he squeaks at the pressure. “Am I in trouble because I got suspended?”</p><p>“No, child, you’re not in trouble.” He presses a folded warm cloth to the boy’s bruised eye, curling his other hand around the back of his head gently, to encourage the blood that has collected there to be reabsorbed. “What happened to the other boy?”</p><p>“He got expelled.”</p><p>“Good. I’m glad to see your school has had a change of disposition on its students.”</p><p>The Nephilim giggles softly and he smiles at the sound. “Dad, you put the fear of <em>God</em> into the principle, he’s <em>terrified</em> of you now.”</p><p>“As he should be, I’m a rather terrifying individual.” He sets the cloth down and pulls his hand back, holding out an acetaminophen in one hand, and a glass of water in the other, the boy takes both obediently. “I’m one of Heaven’s most dangerous weapons.”</p><p>Isa smiles. “I <em>am</em> Heaven’s most dangerous weapon.”</p><p>“Oh?” Raphael smiles at the boy. “How so?”</p><p>“I have all <em>four</em> of Heaven’s most dangerous weapons wrapped around my finger.”</p><p>The Archangel laughs softly, caressing the boy’s cheek tenderly. “That you do.”</p><ol>
<li><strong>Pulling off a hat to reveal blood in your hair.</strong></li>
</ol><p>Isa ignores the eyes on him as best as he can, pulling his beanie down further, and focuses on his biology homework, not surprisingly, he’s passing this class at the top of his class, it helps having the Archangel of Healing as your father, he knows everything there is to know about the human body, and he’s the best tutor one could ask for, so, all in all, it’s just a large win, with no losses.</p><p> “Isa, my son, can I ask you something?”</p><p>He cringes, and it’s not from the dull throbbing in his head either, he knew who had been watching him, and he knew he would come over to investigate at some point, he’d just been hoping he’d get distracted before hand and forget.</p><p>Lowering his pencil, he looks up, meeting his father’s green eyes. “Yea, dad?”</p><p>“Isa, why are you wearing your beanie?”</p><p>The Nephilim stares at him for a moment and licks his lips. “Because, I love my beanie.”</p><p>“Oh, I know you do, but, it’s ninety degrees out, and you’re wearing shorts and a tank top, excuse me for assuming that your beanie doesn’t necessarily match the rest of your attire.” Raphael raises an eyebrow at his son. “What are you hiding under there?”</p><p>“Nothing!”</p><p>“Then, you won’t mind if I take it off, would you, if you’re not hiding anything.”</p><p>Isa bites his lip. “Umm…I do mind, actually, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t.”</p><p>“That makes me <em>want</em> to even more.”</p><p>“I’m having a bad hair day, you’ll regret it.”</p><p>“Isa, with the way your curls are, one might be appropriate in saying that every day is a bad hair day for you.”</p><p>“Offensive, but I meet your point, and concede to it.”</p><p>He feels the movement when his dad pinches the top of his beanie, and quickly throws his hands up when he tugs it off, curling his hands around his head in its wake.</p><p>The Archangel sighs in exasperation, tossing the beanie down onto his desk, and gently pulls the boy’s hands away. “Isa, there’s blood in your hair.”</p><p>“It’s hair dye.”</p><p>“It is <em>not</em>.” His dad pushes his head forward, parting his curls to get a better look at the damage, and he hisses when he touches a finger to the sore spot. “You’ve got a small crack on the back of your head; how did you manage to procure this?”</p><p>“I got beaned in the head at baseball practice.”</p><p>Raphael pulls his desk drawer open, reaching for a small bottle of disinfectant, humming soothingly when the boy whines when he pours it over the wound. “Why weren’t you wearing your helmet?”</p><p>“I…Um…..Forgot it this morning.”</p><p>He hums, reaching into the drawer for a swath of bandages. “Did you bathe already?”</p><p>“Yea, I did.”</p><p>“Good.” He wraps the bandages around the boy’s head, securing it in place, and reaches around him with an ibuprofen and a glass of water. “Here, for the headache.”</p><p>“You’re the best, dad.”</p><p>…</p><ol>
<li><strong>Taking off ones coat to reveal a side wound.</strong></li>
</ol><p>Both father and son stare at each other, the one with his hands on his hips, the other with his arms dangling down his sides, both with their eyes narrowed, staring at each other intently.</p><p>“I know you well enough to know that you’re hiding something from me.”</p><p>“I know me well enough to know that I’m <em>not</em> hiding something from you.”  </p><p>Raphael hums deeply, eyeing his son critically, tilting his head to the side slightly. “Why’s your side wet?”</p><p>Isa hums in turn, and cover the wet spot with his hand. “It’s raining.”</p><p>“It’s a nice warm sunny day, try again.”</p><p>The Nephilim takes a moment. “I spilled something on it.”</p><p>“What did you spill on it?”</p><p>He bites his lip. “A..liquid.”</p><p>“What kind of liquid?”</p><p>Isa wracks his brain when nothing comes to fruition. “Gatorade.”</p><p>“Why’s that hand curled around it starting to turn pink?”</p><p>He bites his lip. “It was pink Gatorade.”</p><p>“It’s turning crimson.”</p><p>“It was crimson Gatorade.”</p><p>“Ha.” The Archangel points a finger at him. “As the one who gets you a variety of different flavored Gatorade, I know, for a fact, there is no such thing as crimson Gatorade.”</p><p>“It’s new. Just came to the shelves.”</p><p>Raphael hums softly. “Where’d you get the money?”</p><p>“I stole it from your wallet.”</p><p>“I don’t <em>have</em> a wallet.”</p><p>“You don’t?”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>Isa whines softly and lowers his hand, his palm a light crimson, and nods, allowing his dad to step forward and gently pull his jacket off. Setting it on his desk, Raphael leans over, lifting his son’s shirt slightly, sighing softly as he pokes around a stab wound. “What happened here?” He spares him a glance. “Did you go searching for demons again, Isaiah?”</p><p>The teenager bites his lip. “No, I did not.”</p><p>The Healer turns back to the wound. “Then, how did you come about being stabbed?”</p><p>Isa huffs softly, steadying himself when his dad lifts him be the waist to sit him on the edge of his desk, and looks away. “You remember that guy I told you about last month, the one that got expelled for coming on to that new girl, he punched me in the face, remember him?”</p><p>The Archangel straightens for a moment. “Yes, I do, did you go searching for him to enact some sort of vigilante justice?”</p><p>“No, I did not.” His son sighs softly and looks up to meet his eyes. “Well, me and a few of my friends went to Steak And Shake after practice, I got a milkshake and some fries, ‘cause you know how I like dipping my fries in my milk shake?” He’s not sure what this has to do with his child being stabbed but he nods none the less. “Anyway, we ate, had a good time, and after we left we went our separate ways, I was walking down the street to the portal, you know, the one that can let me and others come up, and this creep was waiting in the alley, I’m pretty sure he’s been stalking me since I got him expelled ‘cause some weird stuff has been happening, anyway, he freaking stabbed me and threatened me, I didn’t do nothing back, I swear, I just shoved him away and ran, he chased me, but I think I lost him, and then went to the portal…..” The teenage Nephilim pauses for a moment. “Dad, can <em>humans</em> come through the Portal?”</p><p>Raphael shakes his head. “No, they cannot.” He digests his son’s words for a moment. “He’s been stalking you?”</p><p>“Well, I’m not exactly sure, but some weird things have been happening that I can’t necessarily explain.”</p><p>He nods, turning him as he steps around his desk, and reaches for the first drawer, injecting anesthetic first to numb the area, and then threads the needle. “What strange things?”</p><p>It’s best to distract him while he’s stitching up the wound.</p><p>Isa nods lightly. “Well, a couple of days ago, I went to the locker room to change for practice, and my bag was sitting on the bench, and I know, that doesn’t sound to weird, but I <em>always</em> put my bag in my locker, <em>always</em>.” He nods lightly. “And, after that, the strings on my glove were cut. And then, a few days after that, my helmet was dented. And, sometimes when I’m walking around, minding my own, I get that feeling that someone’s following me, you know that feeling, that someone’s there but when you turn to look you don’t see no one?”</p><p>He nods, half way up the wound. “I do. Anything else?”</p><p>“Well, I’ve been getting these threatening texts from an unknown number.”</p><p>He looks up at that, just finishing snipping the line after tying it, and sets the needle aside. “You’ve been getting threatening texts from an unknown number?”</p><p>“Yep.”</p><p>Worry spreads through him. “How long?”</p><p>“Since Monday.”</p><p>He straightens. “Isa, you’ve been getting threatening messages since Monday and you’re just now telling me this?”</p><p>Isa rubs the back of his head sheepishly. “Umm….Yea…”</p><p>Raphael holds his hand out. “Let me see.”</p><p>The Nephilim reaches for his phone in his back pocket, unlocks it, pulls up the messages, and passes his phone to his dad’s waiting hand. He reads through the threatening messages, his brows furrowing as they grow increasingly more violent as the day’s progress. “I’ll take care of this, immediately.”</p><p>“You can track an unknown number?”</p><p>“I’m an <em>Archangel</em>, my little one, there’s very little I <em>can’t</em> do.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0070"><h2>70. The Most Wonderful Time Of The Year</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He runs down the snowy Axis, snow crunching under his sneakers as he goes, the snows thick, it’s a somewhat difficult task to make his way down, but he manages. His curls hidden under his beanie, hands tucked into his hoodie pocket, scarf wrapped securely around his neck, he’s somewhat prepared for the inclement weather.</p><p>The metal gate is freezing as he curls his fingers around it to push it open, and forces it closed through the deep snow behind him, trudging up the path to the Villa, jumping up the stairs to the veranda, he tugs the screen door open, and shoves the thick door inwards, a wall of warm air hitting him face first as he enters, going unnoticed at the commotion happening around his family’s home.</p><p>Uncle Micha setting the tree up.</p><p>Uncle Luci stringing lights around the beams.</p><p>Dad and Uncle Gabe are in the kitchen baking cookies, which is a joke in itself, the <em>Healer</em> being such a great baker.</p><p>Smiling, he kicks his hightops off, pushing them back with his dad and Uncles boots, and darts forward, pulling his freezing cold fingers out from within his hoodie pocket, to snatch up a fresh cookie as he ducks under his dad’s arm.</p><p>“Isa!” A hand curls in the back of his hoodie and tugs him away. “They’re not done yet!”</p><p>“Aw, but dad, they’re so gooood!”</p><p>Raphael looks down at him when his hand curls around the cold soaked fabric of the hoodie, and stares at him for a moment, bright blue eyes peering into his own as the boy nibbles on his stolen cookie. “Isa, my little one, where’s your coat?”</p><p>The Nephilim finishes his cookie before he answers. “I lost it.”</p><p>Gabriel snorts. “You <em>lost</em> your coat?”</p><p>“Yep. It was there one minute, and gone the next, grew legs and walked away.”</p><p>The Messenger snorts again, shaking his head in amusement, a tad fondly too, and turns back to icing the cookies they’d baked, as they waited for the fresh ones to finish baking in the oven.</p><p>His dad hums softly. “And, your boots?”</p><p>“Disappeared.”</p><p>The Healer rubs at his forehead. “Isa, go get changed, you’re soaked, and I do <em>not</em> want to deal with a cranky sick Nephilim.”</p><p>Isa smiles up at him, he’s talking about him, he knows he is. “Can I wear one of your sweaters?”</p><p>Raphael rolls his eyes, smiling, choosing to ignore the small hand that reaches under his arm for another cookie. “Sure, you can wear one of my sweaters.”</p><p>“Okay!” The boy takes a bite from his second stolen cookie. “Thanks, dad!”</p><p>“Of course, little one, go change.”</p><p>Isa smiles, nodding, turning down the hall, jogging slightly down to the third door on the right, his dad’s room, and pushes the cracked door open, hitting another wall of warmth from the fireplace raging in the thirdborn’s room. Closing the door behind him gently, he turns into the room, tugging his beanie off his head, tossing it to rest on his dad’s desk, and reaches up to tug his hoodie off, tanging it on one of the hooks in front of the fire to dry, and carefully peels his socks off, throwing those in the hamper, along with his joggers. Rubbing at his belly lightly, he crosses the room, pulling his dad’s wardrobe open, he’s swapped out his summer clothes for his winter clothes, and he reaches in, pulling a maroon sweater of the hanger, tugging it over his head. It’s <em>huge</em>, it fits him like a dress, coming down to his knees, but it’s warm, and it smells like his dad, and he <em>loves</em> wearing his dad’s clothes. Leaning over, he pulls the bottom drawer open, his drawer, one of two, and pulls out a pair of flannel pants, hopping into them, closes that drawer, and opens the first, for a pair of his dad’s wool socks, and hops once more as he tugs them on.</p><p>He looks down at himself, pulling the sleeves of his dad’s sweater down over his hands slightly, his fingers peaking out, and nods in satisfaction, he’s good, ready to go, and turns back for the door.</p><p>Ducking under the Healer’s arm again, he takes another cookie, and his dad laughs softly, pulling him into his side. “Are they good?”</p><p>“They’re <em>always</em> good, dad.” Isa munches on his third cookie. “<em>Always</em>.”</p><p>“That’s because I’m helping.” His Uncle adds in and laughs when the older Archangel turns to throw a towel at him, ducking under as he tries to avoid it. “I taught you all you know about baking, <em>baby</em> brother!”</p><p>The older Archangel snorts softly and turns back to his son, resting a hand on his curls, offering him another cookie, first lesson of parenting a Nephilim who likes to come and go with the wind, offer him food, and he’ll stay put <em>and </em>do whatever you ask of them. “Go help your Uncle.”</p><p>Isa snorts as he bites into the cookie, he knows he’s being bribed, but he doesn’t care, the cookies are good, he’d jump into a volcano if he was given a cookie, they’re <em>that</em> good. “Which one, I have three.”</p><p>“Pick one, just not Gabriel.”</p><p>“Why can’t I help Uncle Gabe?”</p><p>The Healer pats his cheek lightly. “Because, I know you’ll keep taking the cookies when my back is turned.”</p><p>“Bold assumption, but true, I concede to your point and go see what Uncle Micha and Uncle Luci are doing.”</p><p>…</p><p>The Archangels rest on the two couches in their living room talking softly between themselves when their conversation is interrupted by the Nephilim, whom had disappeared down the hall a little over an hour and a half ago and they’d assumed had fallen asleep when he hadn’t come back, carrying wrapped boxes in his arms.</p><p>“Whatcha go there squirt?” Gabriel leans forward to try and spot one with his name on it. “My name on one of those?”</p><p>“Nah, I skipped you this year.”</p><p>The Messenger snorts when his brother’s son turns a cheeky smile to him. “Why’d you skip me this year?”</p><p>“Because you painted my dad’s staff and blamed me for it.”</p><p>Raphael turns to his brother, his head flitting around, and the younger Archangel laughs sheepishly, ducking slightly, knowing that his brother’s going to smack him over the back of the head. “Gabriel! That was <em>you</em>!”</p><p>“Haha, no, the kid’s lying.”</p><p>He glares at him and Gabriel leans over, away from the older Archangel, as far from him as he can manage. “My son is <em>many</em> things, but he is not a <em>liar</em>.”</p><p>Isa snorts lightly as he arranges his boxes under the tree. “I feel just a little offended by that statement.”</p><p>Gabriel yelps when his brother leans over and smacks him over the head, and rights himself, raising his arm for the Nephilim boy to fall under, pressing against his side, and curls his arm around him to pull him closer.</p><p>Lucifer eyes the gifts under the tree. “Whatcha get for me, kid?”</p><p>“A steaming pile of dog shit.”</p><p>“<em>Isaiah!”</em></p><p>“A steaming pile of dog shite.”</p><p>Michael and Lucifer laugh at the expression that crosses their brother’s features.</p>
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<a name="section0071"><h2>71. Dude, You Don't Wanna Fuck With Me</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Seeing his Uncles standing around with his dad laying strapped on some cruddy dudes table infuriated him, <em>do something motherfuckers</em>, he’d disappeared some time ago after going to Earth to help the Winchesters and Castiel and none of them had thought to send a little prayer up letting them know, <em>heya your Healer is missing, </em>anything would have sufficed, but they didn’t, his dad had been here for a long time, and it was all their fault, he’d deal with those assholes next, his priority was his dad, the only parent he had left, <em>the only one who gets to make his life hell is me, </em>he draws an arrow from his dad’s quiver, notches it, and pulls the string taught, before stepping around the corner.</p><p>“Get your fucking hands <em>off</em> my dad!”</p><p>All eyes turn to him, but he ignores them, staring at the one holding his dad captive, the one that’s holding an Archangel blade against his neck, the one who’s been hurting his dad, treating him as though he’s some sort of <em>pet</em>. His dad is an <em>Archangel</em>, the <em>thirdborn</em>, he’ll be treated with the <em>respect</em> and <em>dignity</em> he deserves.</p><p>And, he will <em>cut you down</em>, if you treat him with anything less.</p><p>“Isaiah!”</p><p>He ignores his Uncles, they weren’t getting the job done, they were just standing there, they didn’t get to <em>scold</em> him, at least he was <em>doing</em> something. He ignores his dad’s angered eyes staring at him, he ignores them all, a good hunter only has focus for it’s prey, and this man, this little bug on the face of existence, is his prey. He’s hundreds of years old, thousands, he was a slave in ancient Egypt, his people built the pyramids, he’s been through things that would make this man shit his pants. “If you harm my dad <em>one</em> more time, I will <em>cut you down</em>, you <em>insignificant little cockroach</em>, and if you <em>kill</em> my dad, I will make your life a living <em>hell</em>.”</p><p>The man laughs at him and his threat, it’s understandable, he barely come’s up to his Uncles bellies, he’s fucking <em>short</em>. But size doesn’t determine the threat level, it doesn’t determine what you’re capable of. Look at Uncle Gabe, he’s the smallest Archangel, he’s short too, granted, not as short as him, but all the same, and he was terrifying when you piss him off.</p><p>He pokes the tip of the blade in closer, drawing blood, and that’s it. That’s game over. <em>No</em> one makes his dad <em>bleed</em>.</p><p>Isa lets go of the arrow, it flies through the air, and the man screams when the arrow pierces through his hand, dropping the Archangel blade, he quickly notches another arrow, this time for his foot, and the man screams again when it pierces through, trapping him where he stands. He rushes forward, through his shocked Uncles, pulls his dad’s bow around, and swings it around harshly, there’s a resounding crack as it makes contact, the man’s thrown off his feet, the arrow ripping painfully through his foot, and he screams again, as he lands on his back, sprawled on the ground, dazed from the impact.</p><p>He spits at him, pulling his dad’s bow around his shoulders, and turns to him, reaching up for the dampening collar around his neck, utilizing that trusty Archangel Nephilim grace, he tears the damned thing off completely. His dad smiles at him in appreciation, his eyes are still angry, and he can’t determine if that anger is directed at him or not, he knows a small part might be.</p><p>The Nephilim steps back as the Healer tears the straps free, pushes himself up, and turns, stepping off the table, resting a hand on his head as he turns to the man that had been holding him as his captive, treating him as though he was some sort of <em>pet</em>, for nearly a month.</p><p>“Isa,” he looks up at his parent. “Show me how creative you can be.”</p><p>…</p><p>They called him The Collector, collecting supernatural creatures to keep in his exhibits, showing off his captures, his trophies.</p><p>They’d gone to Earth together a little over a month ago, to help a friend of the Winchesters, this time, thank God, they told them, but just because they knew they were missing didn’t make finding them any easier.</p><p>He doesn’t spend most of his time in Heaven with his dad and family, he returns at dusk, as was the rules, sundown and he was to be home, but until then, he was free to do as he pleased. Isa has contacts in the supernatural underground, contacts his dad and Uncles don’t know about, and they probably shouldn’t know about, they were not the grade A people of society, he knows many sketchy people.</p><p>See, the one thing one should know about <em>this</em> particular Nephilim, you <em>don’t</em> mess with what’s <em>his</em>. The Archangel Raphael is <em>his</em>. Archangels Michael and Gabriel are <em>his</em>. Lucifer is <em>his</em>. The Powers are <em>his</em>. The Virtues are <em>his</em>. You mess with what’s <em>his</em>, you mess with <em>him</em>, and he <em>doesn’t</em> take being messed with well.</p><p>When the supernatural underground heard something of <em>his</em> had been taken, <em>they</em> reached out, smart creatures didn’t want to find themselves as <em>his</em> enemy, he had friends in high places, and that <em>doesn’t</em> include Heavens most terrifying weapons, Judeo-Christianity was <em>not</em> the only religion in the world, Nephilim were not the only half-bloods in the world, <em>their</em> world was immense and complex.</p><p>Isa reached out to his contacts, who’s ears are to the ground, who know things that others don’t, see things that others miss, and they’re the ones who tell him about The Collector and his zoo of supernatural creatures.</p><p>He clenches his fists, gritting his teeth, some <em>fuckwad</em> was using his oldest brothers like animals to be shown off.</p><p>He thanks them quietly, stuffing his hands back in his pocket, slouches forward, and turns on his heel to make his leave.</p><p>Isa ignores the other cretins crowded around the newest exhibit, his hood pulled up over his curls, making his way through the crowd, staring at the man their world had dubbed as The Collector. He has Vampires as his guards, so, he doesn’t lock them all up in exhibits, and he lifts his gaze, it infuriates him, seeing his oldest brothers collared, like they’re some kind of animal, behind a yellow tinted glass.</p><p>He breaks through the front of the crowd and continues on his way, stepping over the red rope barricade, The Collector doesn’t so much as skip a beat as he introduces his newest specimens, <em>Angel’s folks, real, live Angels, </em>trusting in his Vampires to protect him.</p><p>Isa’s friends with people in high places.</p><p>He’s friends with the Alpha and his children know to leave him be.</p><p>The two lowly Vampires take one look at him and bow, stepping aside for him, and he nods firmly, turning, making his way up the stairs slowly, his hightops smack softly against the metal platform. The Collector turns to face him, to address him, and he growls, his hand snapping out, curling in the collar of the man’s dress shirt, and tugs him down roughly, until they’re eye to eye. “You thought you could get away with <em>this</em>?” He shakes him fiercely. “You <em>dare</em> take what’s <em>mine</em>?”</p><p>The crowd before them falls silent.</p><p>The Nephilim tears the key off from around the man’s neck and tosses it back to the two vampires. “Release the others. <em>He’ll</em> release what he’s <em>taken</em> from <em>me</em>.” Isa turns, gripping the hair on the back of the man’s head, and slams the man face first into the tinted glass, he grunts from the impact, his nose cracking, blood smearing the glass. “You’d better hope this glass isn’t thick.” He pulls him back a bit and throws him forward again, smashing his face into the glass, more blood smears over the cracking glass, and he pulls him back once more. “You thought your guards would <em>stop</em> me?” He smashes the mans face back into the cracking glass. “Vampires <em>know</em> not to mess with me. I’m friends with their Alpha.” He smashes his face into the glass again. “You want to be a collector of Supernatural creatures, that’s cool, but there’s <em>one</em> rule in the supernatural world, only one, and you’re going to learn it.” He throws him forward again, with that Archangel Nephilim strength, and he breaks the glass this time, it shatters, shards falling like rain. “You <em>never</em> take what’s <em>mine</em>.”</p><p>The Collector groans, his face a bloody broken mess, and the Nephilim drags him up into the exhibit he’d had his brothers locked in and lifts him up. “Release the collars.” The man simply moans, and he grits his teeth, a dark gleam in his eye, and reaches around, tugging sharply on his broken nose, and the man screams. “<em>Release</em> the collars.” The Collector’s hand shakes as he reaches up for the button on the collars, finger print activated, and they beep, releasing, and fall to the ground. “Good boy.” Isa turns him around by the hair, until they’re face to face, and squeezes tightly, the man moans again. “I’m going to let you go, because my dad and brothers don’t like it when I kill people.” He pulls him closer. “But, if you <em>ever</em> take what’s <em>mine</em> again, I don’t give a rats ass what <em>they</em> think, I’ll tear you apart limb by fucking limb, <em>got</em> it?”</p><p>The man moans, nodding weakly, and the Nephilim drops him to lay in a heap on the floor, turning to his two oldest brothers, smiling up at them brightly. “Hey Ori, Ak, let’s go home.”</p><p>Sometime later, after they return home, and Raphael clears them, Oren speaks up, Akriel nodding along. “Raph, your kid is <em>terrifying</em>.”</p><p>Raphael smiles, looking over to his boy, sleeping soundly on one of the beds, curled up under his cloak, he looks like a fledgling when he sleeps. “Only when someone messes with what’s his.”</p><p>…</p><p>When Samandriel’s scream echoed through their wavelength, he took action, following the scream to it’s epicenter, he’d never liked the Winchester’s pet demon.</p><p>Crowley seems surprised at his arrival, having heard the call, he’d expected Angels to come storming in, not a runty half-blood.</p><p>The brat can’t even address him first, as he should, it was respectful.</p><p>Isa turns his attention to the fledgling first. “It’ll be okay, Sama, Imma get you outta here.” He offers the fledgling a comforting smile, before turning his attention to the Demon, his knuckles popping from the intensity of his clenched fists. “You touch him again, and I’ll kill you.”</p><p>The demon chuckles softly. “Word on the grapevine is that you’re daddy doesn’t allow you to kill anymore.”</p><p>“Yea, well,” he shrugs, walking forward casually, and as soon as he’s close enough, he catches the King of the Crossroads by the collar, tugging him around and down, until they’re face to face. “What my <em>daddy</em> doesn’t know doesn’t hurt him.” He smiles sweetly. “I don’t <em>have</em> to kill you. But, I can make you <em>beg</em> for me to.”</p><p>“How is that, little half-blood.”</p><p>Isa smiles at him again. “I’m happy you asked.” And reaches around him, snagging the bottle of holy water, pries the demons mouth open, pours the bottle of it’s entirety into his mouth, and curls his hand around his mouth to keep him from spitting it out. “<em>Swallow</em>.”</p><p>The demon stares at him with wide eyes, and he smiles once again, just as sweetly as before, and rubs his fingers down the demon’s throat, forcing him to swallow, and he screams behind his hand, falling backwards, writhing in agony, as the holy water flows through him. He squats over him. “You can beg all you want, but I won’t give you mercy, I want you to <em>suffer</em>.”</p><p>He stands, turning his attention to the fledgling angel, and smiles as he leans over, looking him in his wide terrified blue eyes. “It’s gonna be okay, Sama, Imma get you outta here, and Imma take care’a you. Be strong for me, okay?”</p><p>The fledgling nods slightly, a twitch of the head, whining at the spikes in his head. Isa carefully twists them out, apologizing every time the fledgling cries out, and when he’s got them all undone, he sets the crown aside, for the moment, he’s got an idea, just came to him, and turns to the straps holding him to the chair, picking the locks with the hair pin he pins his curls back with.</p><p>The Nephilim holds a hand up when the little angel squirms to get down. “Hang on, Sama, stay here, I’ll be right back, plug your ears, okay.” Samandriel tilts his head but does as he’s told and plugs his ears.</p><p>Taking the crown of spikes, he turns to the writhing demon, straddling his neck, he jams it onto his head, spinning the spikes in, smiling at the screams that echo around the room as he screws each spike in one by one.</p><p>Once his work is complete, he stands, turning back to the fledgling, and lifts him up into his arms. “Come on, little guy, let’s go home.”</p><p>He turns, walking away from the screaming demon, the fledgling on his hip, and crosses the threshold of the large room, kicking the doors open to make their leave. He can’t fly, not right now, but he can find the closest portal, those work just as much as wings do.</p><p>Isa pauses as headlights shine, a car stopping in front of them, and the trio of his least favorite people in the whole universe jump out.</p><p>Castiel rushes around the car for them and he glares him to a stop. “You back the fuck up, Naomi’s little bitch, that’s right, I know.” He steps closer, staring the seraph in the eye. “Is this thing on, you seein’ me Naomi, I sure hope so, I know all about your <em>brainwashing</em> scheme, Imma tell my dad on you, and he’s gonna <em>tear you the a-fucking-part</em>.” He smiles sweetly at them all. “Now, if ya’ll don’t mind, I have to get this little guy home so my dad can patch him up.” And walks around them all. “Later bitches.”</p><p>Just as they disappear into the darkness, into a portal, they usually come when he calls on them, the angels appear.</p><p>Gabriel looks around in shock, at the screaming from within the warehouse, to the stunned humans, and the shocked seraph. “Any of you guys got the little guy?”</p><p>Sam shakes his head. “Isa took him.”</p><p>The Messenger turns to his older brother. “Mike, how in the <em>Hell</em> did that kid beat us here?”</p><p>Michael hums softly, listening to the agonized screams echoing around them from the warehouse. “Don’t tell anyone that I ever told you this, but sometimes, Raphael’s boy scares me.”</p><p>“Ditto, bro, ditto.”</p><p>…</p><p>Thaddeus stares up in horror, nearly cross-eyed, as the drill comes closer and closer, Naomi’s smirking face in his peripheral vision, it’s so close he can almost feel it, the tip tearing into his temple.</p><p>“Get away from him.” They both turn at the voice, staring at the Nephilim standing there, hands shoved in his pockets, beanie over his curls, a candy cane sticking out of his mouth, watching the <em>mindbreaker </em>closely. “I know he can kind of be a jerk, speaking from first hand experience, but I like him just the way he is. So, back the fuck off.”</p><p>Naomi purses her lips together. “He could be <em>better</em>.”</p><p>“Mmm….We could <em>all</em> be better. But you have no right playing God, sorry, that roles already taken.” Isa turns his head slightly, to the quivering Co-Warden. “Hey, Theo, she never said she’d do this when she said she’d make them stop abusing you, did she?”</p><p>Theo shakes his head frantically. “I—I—I didn’t know! I s—swear! I—I—I don’t w—want th—this!”</p><p>“It’ll be okay, bro.” He reaches into his hoodie pocket for another candy cane and tosses it to the Co-Warden. “Here dude, suck on that, peppermint will help you calm down, it has sedative properties, it’ll help you relax, trust me, my dad’s the Healer, I <em>know</em> these things.” He nods to the guard at the Co-Warden’s side and tosses him a candy cane too. “Here, dude, tis the season.” He turns his attention back to the female angel. “Let him go.”</p><p>She simpers, really bought into her own press, this one. “What could a halfling like you do to stop me?”</p><p>Isa smiles at her around his candy cane. “Why, bitch, I’m happy you asked.” He steps forward casually, and the three of them that he likes watches him as he does. He stands on Thaddeus’s other side, patting him on the belly comfortingly, and reaches out, catching the mindbreakers hand, the one holding the drill, and snaps her hand back, breaking her wrist, and she cries, he raises the drill away, unstraps the Warden’s wrists, and tugs him up. “Move it, man, I’m workin’ere.”</p><p>“Isa?” Thaddeus slides off the table. “What are you going to do?”</p><p>The Nephilim nods at the Co-Warden. “Go give Theo a hug, man, he’s got some shit to tell you.”</p><p>The Warden stares at him for a moment before turning his attention to his little Co-Warden concernedly. “Theo?” Parting from his side, it gives Isa the room he needs to do his work, the Nephilim suckles on his candy cane for a moment, and yanks the mindbreaker down onto the table by her broken wrist. He hears Thaddeus comforting Theo, promising that things will change, and he suckles on his candy cane again in approval.</p><p>Reaching up for the drill above the mindbreakers head, he pulls it down, inserting it where one should, and she screams, flailing on the table, silence falls around the room, save for her screams, he waits a moment, until he knows he’s got her where he needs here. “You’re going to follow us to the Infirmary and you’re going to tell Raphael <em>everything</em> you’ve done.” He waits until her eyes glaze over before pulling the drill out, flipping the switch to turn it off, and backs away. “Let’s go.”</p><p>Isa turns away, hearing her shoes hit the floor, following behind him obediently, and he turns to the others in the room, staring at him in shock. “Come on, dudes, my dad’ll want to see you to make sure you’re a’ight.” He pulls another candy cane out of his hoodie pocket and tosses it to Thaddeus. “Happy Holidays, bro.” Stuffing his hands back in his pocket, he turns for the door, Naomi following behind him obediently, the others following behind her, as they make their way down the hall and out the front door.</p><p>It’s snowing, not too heavily, it wasn’t supposed to get bad until well after nightfall, and they’ll be long since home when that happens. Others turn to stare at them as they pass, the Warden holding onto his Co-Warden, the guard behind him glaring at Naomi, and her following after the Healer’s Nephilim robotically, obediently.</p><p>They take the stairs up to the Infirmary slowly, just on the off chance there’s ice on them, and walk over the veranda when they reach the top, he pushes a door open, allowing them entrance, and steps in behind them, closes the door, and takes the lead again.</p><p>His dad’s sitting at his desk in the back of the room.</p><p>Raphael looks up as they approach, his son smiles at him around his candy cane, and his eyes widen at the ones that follow after him. Thaddeus holding Theo, a dot of blood dripping down his temple, Ion behind them, glaring at Naomi. “What hap—”</p><p>The Nephilim cuts the Healer off when he snaps his fingers, looking directly at Naomi. “Tell him.”</p><p>He sits there in shock, listening to <em>everything</em> she tells him, monotone, robotically, and he <em>knows</em>. Rising quickly, as she comes to the end of her confession, he presses his fingers to her temple and she collapses, he forbids anyone from catching her, letting her lay in a heap on the floor, stepping over her to address the others.</p><p>“Thaddy, what happened?” He touches a finger to his temple. “Did she get you?”</p><p>“No..She was stopped…” The Warden looks around him, and he follows his gaze, to his son, sitting on the edge of his desk texting. “<em>He</em> got <em>her</em>.”</p><p>Raphael stares at the child. “Isa, did you <em>brainwash</em> her?”</p><p>“Nah,” the boy doesn’t look up from his phone. “I made her <em>better</em>.”</p><p>…</p><p>He sits at the sentry’s bedside, his dad had patched him and left them momentarily to check in on his other patients, promising to come back for him. Isa stares at the stitched lip, the broken cheek bone, black eye, broken nose, the bandages wrapped around his temple from where he’d been <em>tortured </em>by that demon.</p><p>“Gadreel.” The Nephilim leans forward, taking the angels hand in his own, squeezing it comfortably. “Tell me who did this to you.”</p><p>Gadreel licks his lips, he’s pretty sedated, they’d given him some strong pain killers. “Dean Winchester……Crowley…..Castiel…”</p><p>Isa glowers, and nods, patting the large hand between his all, and he stands, rising from the chair he’d taken to sit as a sentry at the beaten sentry’s side. “I’ll be back.” He releases his hand, setting it down on the bed gently, reaches for his beanie on the bed side table, and pulls it over his head as he turns, stuffing his hands in his pocket as he makes his way down the aisle, disappearing in the night surrounding them.</p><p>Raphael returns to his bed side, looking around for his son, the last time he’d seen the boy, he’d been sitting here with Gadreel, standing guard over the wounded sentry. “Gaddy,” he turns the sentry as he takes a seat in the chair the Nephilim had left unoccupied. “Do you know where Isa went?”</p><p>Gadreel licks his lips again. “He said he’d be right back.”</p><p>He stops to see Virgil before he leaves, inquiring on if he could borrow a pair of brass knuckles, the Weapons Keeper asks what he needs them for, and he says he needs them for defense. The Weapons Keeper eyed him critically but conceded, allowing the boy to take what he’d requested. Isa thanks him softly, stuffing the brass knuckles into his hoodie pocket, and turns, stuffing his hands back in his pockets, slouches slightly, and makes his way back down the hall.</p><p>Crowley. He hates that motherfucker, for what he’d done to Samandriel, there was still plenty of bad blood there. He seeks him out first, walking lazily through the halls of Hell, towards the throne room, this demon always attempted to usurp the throne when his Uncle wasn’t here to maintain ownership, Luci always got his throne back in the end, he was the one true king of Hell.</p><p>The demons posted at the doors of the throne room shy away from him, they’ve been taught well, they know the single most important rule in the supernatural world, <em>never</em> mess with what’s his, and Gadreel, Gadreel is <em>his</em>. He makes a pit stop in Hell’s torture chamber, for the crown of spikes, what seems to be Crowley’s favorite torture device, and stalks down the hall for the throne room.</p><p>The demon guards step aside for him.</p><p>Reaching out, he pushes the doors open, stepping into the beautiful throne room. “Oh, king,” he holds the crown of spikes up for the self-titled king of hell to see. “You forgot your crown.”</p><p>Crowley rises from his Uncles throne. “How did you get in, halfling?”</p><p>“Through the door, dumbass.” He stalks across the room, yanking the demon down by the collar of his shirt, and drags him down as he himself sits in his Uncles throne, jamming the crone of spikes over his enemies head, and begins twisting the spikes, not bothered in the slightest at his screams. “Can’t be a king without a crown.”</p><p>When he’s through with the demon, leaving him catatonic on the floor of his Uncles throne room, he makes his leave, for his second target.</p><p>Isa squats over the moaning bloody hunter. “If you ever touch him again, I don’t care what my dad or Grandpa say, I’ll tear you apart limb by fucking limb.” He spits at the hunter as he stands, pulling the brass knuckles off, stuffing them back into his hoodie pocket, and flexes his bloody fingers, it’s not his blood, his hand is perfectly fine. He turns away from him, stalking calmly between the other hunter and their pet, staring at then scene before them in shock. “Later bitches.”</p><p>The Nephilim washes his hand before he returns home, so his dad doesn’t ask questions, and then he takes up in vigil at the sentry’s side once more, they stare at each other for a long moment, and Gadreel smiles at him. “Thanks.”</p><p>“Don’t mention it, dude.”</p>
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<a name="section0072"><h2>72. A Revelation Is Made</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It had been a nice night, out with just his dad and his Uncles, they’d gone to see the open house at his school, where he showed them all of his things, accomplishments, teacher compliments, the photos that the school newspaper team had captured of him at various baseball games during the year, the art projects he’d completed (his dad had been especially interested in the realistic portrait he’d done of him and grumbled under his breath some unsavory words when he saw the grade and critiques that said that was not his skin tone), he showed them everything he could think to show them (Uncle Gabe was particularly intrigued by all the notes he’d been caught passing around in class).</p><p>Then they went to a movie, a scary movie, and he’d only admit this under the duress of torture, but he’d hidden behind his dad’s arm for a good portion of the movie, Uncle Luci got to pick the genre, and he had officially proclaimed that Uncle Luci was <em>never</em> allowed to pick they movie they went to see <em>ever</em> again.</p><p>After the movie, they went out to eat, a sports bar, and they choose a booth in the back.</p><p>Isa had been sipping his drink through his straw, listening to his dad and Uncles argue about which team was better, Browns or Steelers, when he felt a tap on his shoulder, the conversation next to him falling silent, and he sets his cup down, turning to see who’d called for his attention.</p><p>A girl stands there, she looks about his age, pale, long silky black hair, of Asian descent, looking at him apologetically. “Excuse me, I’m sorry for bothering you, it’s just that,” she peers over her shoulder and he leans forward to see who she’s discreetly pointing at, before she turns back around. “That guy over there is being a creep and won’t leave me alone, I know it’s a lot to ask, but he’s really making me uncomfortable, would you be willing to pretend you’re my overprotective older brother, for like, five minutes?”</p><p>He stares at her for a good solid minute, and she shuffles nervously, smiling at his family on his other side, and he smiles at her, nodding slightly. “Sure, doodette, take your new older brother over there, let me meet this guy, show him not to mess with me new lil sis.”</p><p>She smiles at him; her appreciation is palpable. “Thank you so, so much! You have no idea how much I appreciate this!” She holds her hand out. “My names Molly.”</p><p>He smiles at her, reaching out to shake her hand. “Isa. Nice to meet you.”</p><p>The teenager slides out of the booth, and holds his arm out for her, she smiles as she curls her arm around his, and he nods at her to guide him to the creep messin’ with her.</p><p>They watch their small Nephilim tap the man on the shoulder, as the man turns to him, he sneers at their boy, and he gestures to the teen at his side and points a finger in the mans face, they’re not sure what he says exactly, but it’s clearly not something pleasant, as the mans eyes widen and his face pales. Isa tugs the man down by the collar and shakes him, nodding to Molly at his side, they can’t hear it, but they know the mans stuttering out an apology. Their boy nods firmly, tugs the man around, and shoves him towards the door.</p><p>Their work complete, the two teenagers watch the man stumble out the doors, and turn away, crossing around the table in front of them as they make their way back.</p><p>Molly hugs him tightly when they return to his booth. “Thank you, so, so much! You’re amazing! He looked so terrified!”</p><p>He smiles. “Yea, he shoulda been terrified, Imma bad bitch.” He hears his dad sigh in exasperation but chooses to ignore it.</p><p>The girl smiles at him. “I can’t express in words how grateful I am! I’m an exchange student from Japan and don’t know anyone but my host family! I was supposed to meet a few friends here but they never showed up, so thank you, so much!”</p><p>“Hey, no problem.” Isa turns to their table, reaches for a napkin, and digs in his hoodie pocket for a pen, jotting his number and name down, before turning back the girl behind him. “Here, this is my number, if you ever need me to scare the shit out of anyone else, just shoot me a text, I’ll be there.”</p><p>Molly smiles, taking the napkin from him, folds it nicely, and sticks it in her purse, before hugging him again. “Thank you, again, you’re one of the nicest boys I’ve met in my time here.”</p><p>Isa hugs her back for a moment before she pulls away once more. “I was raised right, doodettes, ladies are queens and deserve to be treated that way.”</p><p>She tucks her silky black hair around her ear. “I hope we can see each other again.”</p><p>“Girl, we can definitely get together again.” He points at her purse. “Just let me know when and where, and I’ll be there.”</p><p>The teenage girl smiles at him. “I’d like that, I’ll definitely text you.” Her phone in her hand buzzes and she looks down at it. “My host father is here, so I should probably go.” She flashes him one last smile. “It was nice to meet you, Isa.”</p><p>“It was nice to meet you too, Molly.”</p><p>He watches her go for the door, exit, and watches through the window as she gets into the minivan that pulls up, before sliding back into the both next to his dad and reaching for his drink.</p><p>Gabriel wolf whistles softly. “Get it, little man.”</p><p>“Trust me, Uncle Gabe, there’s nothing there.” Isa takes a sip from his straw. “Not my type.”</p><p>“Who?” The Messenger leans forward. “Girls or Asians?”</p><p>He glares at his Uncle and his dad throws a balled up napkin at him. “Dude, I’m <em>not</em> racist! She’s just not my type!”</p><p>“Who <em>is</em> your type, then, nephew mine, so I can play matchmaker for you.”</p><p>“Good luck with that.” Isa snorts softly and takes another drink, feeling the eyes of his other Uncles and dad on him, so there’s no better time then to out yourself then now, he guesses. “I’m aromantic asexual.”</p><p>Silence follows his admission, and he stares at his empty place, wishing he hadn’t said anything.</p><p>“I am too.” All of them turn to the blonde on Gabriel’s left, and Lucifer nods, glaring at them. “Is that a problem?”</p><p>He feels a small weight lifting from his shoulders knowing that his Uncle Luci is like him too.</p><p>“I’m pansexual.” He looks up at his golden eyed Uncle and Gabriel smiles at him. “I love anyone and everyone.”</p><p>His dad hums softly. “I’m bisexual, I do lean more towards the female nowadays, but I’ve explored my gender as well. I had a bit of a fling with the Plato in 410 BC. Then, there was a bit of a thing with Tutankhamun.” He looks up at his dad when he elbows him in the side lightly, he winks down at him and smiles. “Long before you were born, obviously.”</p><p>Gabriel snorts. “I <em>totally </em>knew you and Plato were a thing!”</p><p>“Because, you’re so nosey, and followed me once when I went to meet him.”</p><p>“I’m queerplatonic.” He looks up at his oldest Uncle and Michael winks at him and smiles. “I love people, platonically, not romantically.”</p><p>Isa smiles at them, leaning into his dad’s arm, curling his arm around his. “So….you guys don’t mind?”</p><p>Raphael presses a kiss to his child’s head. “No, knowing your sexual orientation <em>doesn’t</em> make us love you any less.”</p>
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<a name="section0073"><h2>73. Fake Family Feels</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Tio, I really messed up!”</p><p>Isa stuffs his bat into his bag and zips it up before turning to his best friend. “What’s up, Zacaris?”</p><p>Zacaris wrings his hands together. “Tio, I told someone we were hermanos, but we looks nothing alike, I mean, you’re African American and I’m latino, so I said I was adopted. Now they want to have dinner with my familia….Is your papa good at lying?”</p><p>He laughs, it’s wrong, he knows, but he laughs. Hard, like that kind of laugh that makes you wrap your arms around your belly and bend forward, that kind of laugh.</p><p>His best friend glares at him.  “No es gracioso, inbecil!” (it’s not funny, asshole!)</p><p>The Nephilim holds up a hand as he gets himself under control, and takes a deep breath as he straightens again, nodding his head firmly, pulling his bag over his shoulder, winds his arm around his friend’s shoulder, and turns to lead them out of the locker room. “Come on, <em>brother</em>, my dad’ll get upset if we’re later then we should be.”</p><p>Zacaris smiles, walking in time with his friend, as they push open the schools front doors and turn down the sidewalk. He knows the path by heart, he’s been to his friend’s penthouse home a number of times, he knows the path step for step.</p><p>Isa nods at the doorman as he opens the door for him, and he nods back, closing the door behind them. Zacaris pushes the button for the elevator, and they whisper between themselves as they wait for it. It dings when it opens, and their conversation doesn’t break as they step in, the Egyptian presses the button for the penthouse, and nods to his friend, listening intently.</p><p>The ride takes a good minute before they arrive to their floor, the elevator dings as the doors slide open, and they step out.</p><p>The two teenagers spot the man sitting at the island, working on a few charts, he’s focused.</p><p>“Hey dad,” Isa calls out as they drop their bags next to the door and toe off their sneakers. “Me and your <em>adopted son </em>are home.”</p><p>Raphael doesn’t even bat an eye. “Hello, my little ones, how was school?”</p><p>“It was horrible. Cruel and unusual punishment.</p><p>He nods, flipping the page in the chart he’s working on. “How about you, my other little one?”</p><p>Sacaris smiles widely at his friend at the fact that his dad hadn’t even questioned it, he’d just played along, without incident. “It was largo y aburrido, papa!” (long and boring)</p><p>“I apologize it’s so torturous, you’ll both thank me when you’re older, I promise.” He closes the chart and moves on to the next one. “Any homework?”</p><p>“Dad!” Isa throws his head back. “It’s Friday! No one does their homework on Friday!”</p><p>Sacaris nods in agreement. “Yea, papa, it’s like, a sacrilegio!” (Sacrilege)</p><p>“My apologies, I’m old school,” he smiles in amusement. “I’ve always been of the impression to get it done early so you don’t have to waste a minute of your weekend.”</p><p>Isa and Zacaris exchange looks, and nod, tugging their backpacks open to pull their history books out, their homework tucked in the front, darting across the room to take occupancy in the stools on either side of the man. Raphael smiles as he signs his name on the line at the bottom of the last page in the chart he’s working on, as they open their textbooks, pull their worksheets out of the front of the book, and flip to the right pages.</p><p>He closes his chart and looks between them both, reaching out to ruffle their curls, they both groan and duck. “Would you both like a snack?”</p><p>Both boy’s look up at him and ask for the same thing, celery and peanut butter, and he nods, turning his stool around to step down, crossing around his latino son, pressing his hand to his back, as he steps into the kitchen, grabs the celery from the fridge, the peanut butter from the cabinet above the sink, a butter knife, and a plate, before returning to the island, standing on the other side as he prepares their snack, and sets the plate between them when he’s done.</p><p>“So,” he takes a bite of a celery stick. “Anything important today?”</p><p>Isa looks up from his history book. “Sacaris invited some people over for dinner.”</p><p>The Healer looks over to the other boy. “You did?”</p><p>Sacaris winces. “Yes, papa?”</p><p>“Alright,” he nods lightly. “What should we have, it has to be nice and classy, we want to make a good impression.” The boy smiles at him and he winks at him playfully. “How about steak, asparagus, and potatoes?”</p><p>“Media raro, papa.” (Medium rare, dad)</p><p>Raphael smiles as he takes another bite of his celery stick and leans forward to ruffle his curls. “I <em>know</em> how you like yours, my little one.”</p><p>“Mmm, I could go for a good steak, dad.” Isa hums in pleasure. “Nice and juicy.”</p><p>“It’s settled then,” the Archangel nods, finishing off his celery stick. “I’ll get dinner started, you two finish your homework,” he nods to the boy to his left. “You give them our address, and when you’re done, go take a shower, you two stink.”</p><p>The two teenagers grin cheekily and fan their hands in the air as though to waft their foul scent at him, and he makes an exaggerated face of disgust, turning away from them, and smiles when they laugh at his mock expense.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0074"><h2>74. The Son Of Mictlantecuhtli</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Isa learns his best friend is being sent to another boys home all the way over in New York, asks Raph to adopt him, and finds out his best friend knew about them being an Archangel and Nephilim since preschool. Raphael is reminded how disgusted he was with the Holy Inquisition, does not like Angela Mahoning, and that his son's best friend isn't actually a plain old human.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Tio, me estoy moviendo!” (Dude I’m being moved again)</p><p>Isa turns at the sound of his best friend’s voice and the statement that just came out of his mouth. “What!”</p><p>Sacaris nods frantically, waving his hands around. “Tio, I’m being moved from this home! I’m going to another home in New York! No quireo ir!” ( I don’t want to go)</p><p>The Nephilim slams his locker closed. “You can’t go! You’re my best friend! You’re my pitcher! You’re my brother, Saca! You can’t go!”</p><p>“I don’t have much of a choice in the matter, tio, I go where they say.” The latino boy frowns in sorrow. “I leave on Monday, tio, I just wanted to say adios before I go.”</p><p>Isa shakes his head and curls his hands around his friends shoulders. “Saca you <em>can’t</em> go!”</p><p>Sacaris sighs softly. “Tio, the only thing that could keep me from being sent is being adopted and we both know that’s not going to happen, no one wants a chico latino.” (latino boy)</p><p>“No, no,” he shakes his head, refusing to believe this is the last time he’s going to see his best friend, and he shakes him slightly. “I have an idea! I have an idea!”</p><p>“What, tio?”</p><p>Isa shakes his head. “I can’t say!” He hugs his friend as the dismissal bell rings through the hall. “I’ll see you on Sunday!” And, darts around his friend, leaving him watching as his back disappears out the doors.</p><p>…</p><p>“Isa,” he sighs, rubbing at his forehead, as the boy asks again the span of fifteen minutes. “I can’t adopt a human. It wouldn’t work out, I spend most of my time in Heaven, and you spend most of your time with me there.”</p><p>The Nephilim is adamant, tugging on his sleeve as he turns away, tugging him back around. “Dad, they’re going to move him on Monday!”</p><p>“My son, I understand, and I’m sorry to see him go, I’m just as fond of him as you are, but it wouldn’t work out the way it would need to, as a human, he can’t enter Heaven, he won’t be able to pass the boarder.”</p><p>Isa tugs on his sleeve. “Then, me and him can stay here and you can check in every weekend! Please dad! <em>Please</em>! He’s my <em>best friend</em>!”</p><p>Raphael sighs deeply, rubbing his head lightly, and inevitably nods. “I’ll <em>think</em> about it.”</p><p>…</p><p>His dad had called ahead, he wanted to get Sacaris’s opinion on the matter, it was still something that would need to be worked through, there were more roadblocks then there wasn’t, they’d have to reveal their true identities to him so he knew why he wasn’t there most of the time, there was much to consider, but they <em>could</em> make it work.</p><p>The lady on the phone had sounded surprised that he requested to meet with the latino boy, and had immediately tried to deter him, trying to push him towards other boys, and he knew by his tone that his dad had grown aggravated by the lady’s attempts and snapped, saying they’d be there to see <em>him</em>, Saturday, three pm, and hung up before she could get a word out.</p><p>His dad had grumbled the entire time as he made supper and Isa had to refrain from laughing lest his dad throw something at him for it.</p><p>The building was huge, a looming structure, and in a childlike instinct, Isa slid closer to his dad’s side as they walked up the walk way to the front door, and the Archangel rubbed at the back of the boy’s head soothing as they walked up the steps to the front doors. He opened the one, allowed his son to enter first, and followed in after him.</p><p>There was a woman at the desk just beyond the doors, and a room, where someone was berating another rather loudly, not good for business, in Isa’s opinion. The woman at the desk was on the phone and they waited patiently, listening in on the other in the room just a bit beyond them, going on and on about the language they spoke, how they didn’t belong here, they should speak their language or go back to his country.</p><p>Being friends with his friend as long as he has, he knows when he hears an insult for his race, and looking up to his dad, he knew it too, judging from the light in his eyes.</p><p>The woman at the desk puts the phone down and smiles up at them. “Sorry about that, how can I help you?”</p><p>Raphael looks down at her, a small woman, graying hair, a tad on the portly side. “Yes, I’m here to see Sacaris Rodriguez.”</p><p>She purses her lips but nods, flipping through the appointment book. “Raphael Mostafa?”</p><p>He nods slightly. “Yes, that’s me.”</p><p>She looks up at him. “Are you sure you want to see <em>him</em>, we’ve got plenty of other boys, in fact w—”</p><p>“I wouldn’t have made an appointment to see him if I wanted to see someone else.” She blinks in surprise at his sharp tone. “My appointment was for three. Where can I meet him?”</p><p>She nods lightly, gesturing for the room behind her, where the insults and berating had been coming from. “Umm….In there sir…I let them know you’re here.”</p><p>The Healer nods sharply, rubbing at his son’s back to soothe himself, and they listen as she shares the memo of their arrival, there’s a sharp response, and she turns, hustling back. “Alrighty, right in there.”</p><p>His dad nods sharply, guiding him around the desk with a hand pressing to the small of his back, listening to the sharp voice telling the other occupant of the room, whom they now knew to be the one they came to see, to speak their language and to not mess this up, and then they crest the corner of the doorway.</p><p>The woman who’d previously been berating his friend smiles at them, a complete one-eighty from how she’d been just moments before. Sacaris has been looking down at his lap mutely, until he heard his caretaker greet the family who wanted to see him, and his face lit up at the sight of them standing there.</p><p>“Tio!”</p><p>The woman smacks him over the back of the head. “Don’t use that <em>nasty</em> language, you’re in America, speak American.”</p><p>Raphael inhales deeply, but refrains from snapping, and exhales to calm himself, turning his gaze away from the solemn boy to stare at the woman who’d just smacked him. “Hola pequenin.” (hello, my little one)</p><p>There’s a sense of satisfaction when the woman’s face pales, and he turns his attention back to the boy, Sacaris grins up at him. “Hola, papa.”</p><p>It had started as a joke that one time and never stopped.</p><p>The Archangel turns his attention back to the woman. “Is your attendance mandatory or are we able to hold this meeting in privacy?”</p><p>The woman nods lightly. “I do have to be here, for the boy’s protection, you know, just in case.” She sits next to him and Sacaris noticeably stiffens for a brief moment, and there’s so many implications at that small act, that he will decidedly delve into at a later time. “Please, take a seat, don’t mind me, pretend I’m not even here.”</p><p>Isa nods, pulling his dad forward to seat them in the two chairs across from his best friend, and grins as him when their eyes meet. “Le pregunte a mi padre sit e habia adoptado.” (I asked my dad if he’d adopt you)</p><p>Sacaris’s eyes widen. “Lo has hecho!” (You did)</p><p>The Egyptian boy nods excitedly</p><p>Raphael turns his gaze away from the fuming woman at the boy’s side, clearly having wanted to listen in to their conversation, and try to bring him to change his mind, and focuses it on the boy in question. “Lo hizo. He dicho que lo pensaria.” (He did. I said I’d think about it)</p><p>The boy across from him smiles widely. “No hace falta, senor. El hecho de que me vieras aqui es suficiente.” (you don’t have to, sir. Just the fact that you’d come to see me here is enough)</p><p>He waves that statement away. “Tonterias, soy un hombre muy ocupado, no habria venido aqui para verte si no lo estviera considerando.” (Nonsense, I’m a very busy man, I wouldn’t have come here to see you if I wasn’t considering it.)</p><p>Isa nods lightly. “Queria tu opinion sit e adoptara.” (he wanted to get your opinion on if he adopted you)</p><p>His dad nods. “Si yo te adoptara, habria algunas cosas que necesitarias saber de antemano.” (If I were to adopt you, there would be some things that you’d need to know before hand)</p><p>Sacaris nods firmly. “Como que eres arcangel e Isa un nefilim?” (Like you being an archangel and Isa being a nephilim)</p><p>They stare at him a moment in surprise, Raphael shakes his head, and then nods. “Si, como lo sabias, pequenin?” (Yes, how did you know little one)</p><p>The latino boy smiles slightly. “Puedo vert us alas. Y mi padre me lo dijo. Lo conozco desde preescolar.” (I can see your wings. And, my dad told me. I’ve known since preschool)</p><p>Isa stares at his best friend in shock for a long moment, his mind struggling to comprehend the fact that his best friend had known his dad was an Archangel and he was a Nephilim for so long. “Si tienes un padre, por que estas aqui?” (if you have a dad, why are you here then?)</p><p>His best friend sighs softy. “Mi padre no puedo venir a visitarnos. No muy a menudo. Suele visitor en mis suenos. O puedo convocarlo, soy un necromancer.” (My dad can’t come visit. Not very often. He usually visits in my dreams. Or I can summon him, I’m a necromancer.)</p><p>Raphael regards the boy carefully. “Puedes ver mis alas, es clarividente?” (You can see my wings, are you clairvoyant)</p><p>Sacaris shakes his head. “No.”</p><p>The Archangel regards him again, more critically this time, eyeing him carefully. “Tu padre te visita en tus suenos, muy pocos pueden hacer eso, quien es tu padre?” (Your dad visits you in your dreams, very few can do that, who is your dad?)</p><p>The boy nods faintly. “Mi padre es Mictantecuhtli.” (My dad is Mictantecuhtli.)</p><p>His eyes widen slightly. “Eres un semidios Azteca.” (You’re an Aztec demigod.)</p><p>Isa turns to look up at his dad. “Un semidios puede cruzat la table, verdad, Los ninos nordicos del tio Gabe vienen a visitarnos, pueden cruzar, no?” (A demigod can cross the border, right, Uncle Gabe’s Norse kids come to visit sometimes, they can cross, right?)</p><p>The Archangel nods at his son but remains focused on the Aztec. “Como se siente tu padre pr nosotros?” (How does your dad feel about us?)</p><p>Zacaris grins widely. “Que Azrael es su favorite, pero los demas Tambien estais bein.” (That Azrael is his favorite, but the rest of you are okay too.)</p><p>He snorts softly. “Claro que un dios de la muerto preferiria a mi hermano menor.” (of course a god of death would favorite my younger brother.) He gathers in his amusement and grows a tad firmer. “Te endurecio cuando se sento a tu lado, por que?” (You stiffened when she sat next to you, why?)</p><p>The young demigod shakes his head. “No es nada.” (its nothing.)</p><p>The Archangel hums deeply, narrowing his eyes slightly. “No me mientas. O te hare desbardear y dar la Vuelta antes de que puedas parpadear.” (don’t lie to me. Or I’ll have you bared and turned over before you can blink)</p><p>Isa nods frantically, waving his hands at him. “Tio. No esta bromeando, lleva un cinturon, para tu propio bienestar solo dile la verdad!” (Dude, he’s not kidding, he’s wearing a belt for your own well-being just tell him the truth!)</p><p>Sacaris gulps. “Y si el Viejo hag lo ve? Llamara a la policia!” (What if the old hag sees? She’ll call the police!)</p><p>Raphael hums deeply. “Mantengase escancado en la respuesta a mi pregunta y usted descubrira como me permitire hacerlo.” (Keep stalling in answering my question and you’ll find out just how I’ll enable myself to do it.)</p><p>The Aztec gulps again and nods. “A ella no le gusta mucho a todos. Ella lo odia cuando hablo espanol. Ella odia toho lo que tiene que ver conmigo porque no so blanco. Dice que no pertenezco a su paisy que soy una verguenza y todo eso. No le gusta cuando honro a mi padre y a mis antepasados, me llama hereje y abominacion por mis creencias politeistas, yo naci en Tenochtitlan, la capital Azteca. Se que hay un creador que lleva muchos nombres, pero creo y adoro a los otros dioses, es me religion, y a ella no le gusta. Ella destruyo my altercado y mis sacrificios. Cuando me ve hacer algo que cree que no es estadounidense o en contra de su creencia me castigo.” (She doesn’t like me all too much. She hates it when I speak Spanish. She hates everything to do with me because I’m not white. She says I don’t belong in her country and that I’m a disgrace and all that. She doesn’t like it when I honor my father and my ancestors, she calls me a heretic and an abomination because of my polytheistic beliefs, I was born in Tenoctitlan, the Aztec capital. I know there is one Creator who goes by many names, but I believe in and worship the other gods and goddesses too, it’s my religion, and she doesn’t like it. She destroyed my alter and my sacrifices. When she sees me do something she thinks is unAmerican or against her beliefs she punishes me.)</p><p>The Archangel frowns in distaste, and turns to the woman, doing something on her phone, he assumes she’s trying to translate what they’re saying, and returns his gaze to the boy. “Como te castiga?” (How does she punish you?”</p><p>Sacaris shrugs. “Ella no hace nada malo, se quita las comidas y me huele un poco. Pero es cuando me ve adorando, por eso no me gusta, por eso me he endurecido, porque cuando adoro, lo hago en espanol.” (She doesn’t do anything too bad, takes away meals and smacks me around a bit. But it’s when she sees me worshipping, that’s why I stiffened, because when I worship, I do it in Spanish.)</p><p>Isa leans forward, asking before his dad can, but he hums in agreement from his side. “Que hace ella?” (What does she do?)</p><p>The teenager bites his lip nervously and the Archangel leans forward. “Esta bien, pequena, que hace ella?” (It’s alright, little one, what does she do?)</p><p>The Aztec demigod exhales softly. “Ataque acuatico.” (Waterboarding.)</p><p>Raphael eyes widen. “I’ll take him.” Both teenagers stare at him in surprise, and he nods firmly, turning his attention to the woman sitting next to the boy, the woman who <em>tortured him, </em>like she was an inquisitor for the Holy Inquisition, it <em>disgusts</em> him beyond belief. “I’ll take him, where do I sign?” Her head snaps up in surprise at his call, in English, and immediately turns to the glare at the boy. “Excuse me,” he snaps his fingers for her attention. “I need the paperwork.”</p><p>Her head flits around, her eyes wide as she stares. “You want him?” She smiles placatingly. “Sir, with all do respect, you seem like a fine gentlemen, there are plenty of respectable boys here looking for a good home, perhaps you’d like to meet a few of t—”</p><p>“<em>Perhaps</em>, I’d like to fill out the paperwork that I’ve requested so I can get my <em>boys</em> home for supper.” Her eyes widen. “Sometime today would be preferable.”</p><p>She nods mutely, rising from her seat quickly, throwing the door open and darting around the corner.</p><p>With her out of the room, he rises from his seat, steps out, and crosses around the table to the boy, holding his arms open for him. Sacaris looks up at him with wide watery eyes. “Come here, my little one.”</p><p>The Aztec is out of his seat in a blink, jumping into the Archangel’s arms, hugging himself close. “Gracias, papa.” (thank you, dad)</p><p>Raphael pets a hand down the back of his head soothingly. “It’ll be okay, my little one, you’ll come live with me and mine, we’ll take good care of you. When we return home, I’m going to look you over thoroughly, for any signs of distress or injury, from her cruel treatment.”</p><p>Sacaris curls his fingers in the back of the Archangel’s jacket. “Etsa bien para me seguir practicando maso Moctezuma, adorar a mis dioses y diosas?” (It’s okay for me to still practice Maso Moctezuma, to worship my gods and goddesses?)</p><p>He nods lightly, rubbing lightly at the side of his neck. “Of course, we’re an open minded people, Isa is Kemetic, he practices Kemeticism, he worships the gods and goddesses of ancient Egypt.” He strokes his fingers through his curls. “We interact with the deities of the other religions constantly, Egyptian, Norse, many others, your father is welcome to come visit anytime he’s able.”</p><p>“I can’t wait to introduce you to Anubis!” His best friend nods, coming to stand at his side. “Yea, dude, I have an alter and everything and you can build one of your own too.” He pats his back soothingly. “I have my little corner with my alter and stuff where I can worship, and we can make you one too.”</p><p>Sacaris takes comfort in the strong warm arms wrapped around him and the hum under his ear. “And…And I can still practice my necromancy?”</p><p>Isa nods. “Dude, I practice Heka, Ancient Egyptian magic. My dad doesn’t care if you practice magic, just as long as you do it with good and pure intentions.”</p><p>“Right,” he rubs his thumb over the back of the Aztec’s neck. “That means no summoning evil spirits or cursing people.”</p><p>“Unless they deserve it.”</p><p>Raphael spares his other boy a glance. “Isa, no, never, <em>even</em> if they deserve it.”</p><p>“Alright, here’s the paperwork.” She returns a few minutes later, none of them are sure as to what took her so long, and neither one of them care to ask. “Are you absolutely sure you wa—”</p><p>The Healer nods firmly, cutting her off midsentence. “I need a pen.” He skillfully turns his new boy to rest against his side as he leans over the paperwork, he can write one handed, he’s had lots of practice. She hands him one and he nods tersely. “Thank you.” It takes a few minutes to fill out the paperwork, initial here, sign there, and the like, but the fingers curled in the back of his jacket make this tedious assignment worth it. He signs his name on the last line, set the pen on the packet, and slides it over to her. “There, anything else?”</p><p>She swallows softly. “You can go collect his things, if you’d like.”</p><p>The Archangel nods, turning to look down at the Aztec pressed against his side, clutching at the back of his jacket. “Anything there you want to take with us?” Sacaris shakes his head mutely, and he nods, rubbing his arm soothingly as he turns his attention back to the woman. “What’s your name?”</p><p>She swallows again. “Angela….Angela Mahoning.”</p><p>He nods sharply. “Well, <em>Angela Mahoning, </em>the authorities will be made aware of your <em>torturing</em> a youth under your care so that they may make a proper investigation of your establishment, and you will find yourself on the other end of a lawsuit for harming one of <em>my</em> boys, expect to see the paperwork within the next coming days, I’ll see you in court.”</p><p>Angela glares at the boy tucked against his side. “You litt—”</p><p>“If you value your dignity and reputation,” Raphael keeps his tone even. “You will refrain from speaking to my new son.” He leans over slightly. “Or, I will <em>destroy</em> you, in <em>every</em> way possible.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0075"><h2>75. Manipulation and Torture</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He flinches with every cry, as soft as it is, as his Uncle Michael and two oldest brothers tend to his dad’s wings, tears streaming down his face, biting his lip to keep from sobbing, now wasn’t the time, he didn’t deserve to, this was all his fault, his dad’s pain and suffering was all his fault, his cries were all his fault.</p><p>It was all his fault.</p><p>…</p><p>
  <em>“If you don’t do it kid, I will, and I can do a lot more to hurt him then you can.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Isa breathes out a sob, staring at his bound father, shaking his head frantically, he can’t hurt his dad, he can’t torture him, what they wanted him to do was the equivalent of torture, and he couldn’t do it.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Isa, Isa, it’s alright,” Raphael calls softly, trying to soothe the distraught Nephilim. “Isa, Isa look at me.” The little storm bringer looks up to meet his eyes and breathes out another sob. “It’s okay, it’s alright, do it, it’s okay, my little one, go ahead and do it.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“That’s right, kid, do it, ground this bird.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The Nephilim shakes his head, quivering violently, his hands shaking. “No….No…..I don’t want to hurt you, daddy….”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The Archangel shakes his head. “Isa, there’s absolutely nothing you could do to hurt me. It’s alright, my little one, it’s alright, do it, Isa, just do it, it’ll be alright.” His son breathes out another sob. “It’s alright, Isa, it’s alright, go on, do as you’re told.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Daddy….no….”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Isa, do as your told.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Choking on another sob, the small teenager rubs the tears from his eyes, and squats, reaching around his dad for his flight feathers, sobbing again when his dad stiffens, biting back a soft cry, when he tugs a handful of flight feather out, the Prince of Hell cackling behind him. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>…</em>
</p><p>Akriel steps back, rubbing his hands on a hand towel, looking around for him. “Oren, where’s Isa?”</p><p>His Captain steps away from his Archangel’s side, his wings cleaned and bound, and shrugs. “Who care, it’s his fault that Raph’s in this condition.”</p><p>“Oren!” The mental specialist whirls around. “How <em>dare</em> you! He was forced to!”</p><p>Oren shrugs again. “He should have been stronger.”</p><p>“Raph would be ashamed of you if he heard you talking like that!” Akriel shoves him back a step. “And, you know he would!”</p><p>“What would I be ashamed of?” The both whirl around at the sound of their Archangel’s voice. “Where’s my son?”</p><p>“Raph, he’s—”</p><p>Raphael turns a glare on him, and Oren falls silent, he’d clearly been heard. “Where’s my child?” The two Virtues exchange looks. “Find him, I want my son.”</p><p>They both nod, turning away to do as they were told, it doesn’t take them long to spot him. Huddled up, legs pulled up to his chest, arms wrapped around his knees, his shoulders quaking, head buried in his arms.</p><p>Akriel approaches softly, squatting in front of the broken Nephilim, he can’t even begin to imagine how he must feel, what’s going through his head, having been forced to do what he had. Slowly, he reaches out, curling his fingers around his arm. “Isa?” The Nephilim curls up tighter. “Isa, your dad wants you, do you want to go see him?” The boy shakes his head as best he can and his shoulders quake again, he’s crying, as silently as he can. “Isa, it’s okay, your dad isn’t upset at you, none of us are upset, you saved your dad from even more pain.” He gets no response. “Isa, your dad’s asking for you, he wants to see you, he’s worried about you, don’t you want to go see him?”</p><p>The Nephilim shakes his head again. “I—I—I h—hurt h—h—him. I—I d—did i—i—it.”</p><p>“But, you didn’t want to, you didn’t have a choice.</p><p>Isa shakes his head again and curls tighter. “D—D—Don’t w—wanna h—h—hurt h—him a—a—again.”</p><p>“My little one.”</p><p>Isa stiffens at the voice and curls up even more, Akriel looks over his shoulder at it, and Oren tries to step forward. “Raph, you should be—” He’s silenced by a glare, their Archangel had clearly heard what he said about his son, and Oren backs up with his hands raised placatingly.</p><p>Akriel rises, stepping aside to allow him room, and Raphael kneels, resting on his knees, his wings folded closely behind him, he couldn’t stash them away until the feathers grew in, they needed constant care until that happened. He reaches out slowly, curling his hand around the boy’s cheek as best as he can, and lifts his head, tutting at the glistening tear tracks creating little crevices in the dark smudge that covers his cheeks. “It’s alright, my little one, I’m alright.”</p><p>Isa chokes on a muted sob. “H-H—Hurt y—you.”</p><p>“No, little one, oh no, I told you.” He strokes his cheek lightly. “You could never hurt me. I’d take a thousand years of torture if it meant you were safe. I’ve had worse.” He reaches for his hand as he starts to rise. “Come, stand with me.” He pulls the boy up and pulls him into his arms, curling around him, letting him sob quietly in his chest, his fingers curling in the front of his shirt. “It’s alright, my little one, I’m here, daddy’s here, I’ve got you.” He pet’s his hand down the back of his son’s head, letting him wear himself out, until he just can’t shed anymore tears, and he wheezes softly against him, clutching on, not wanting to let go. “Let’s get you scrubbed and into bed, little one, you need a good rest.”</p><p>The Healer looks up at his two Virtues. “I want a tub brought over to my bed and the next bed pushed up against mine.”</p><p>Oren nods, trying to make amends for his poor accusation, heading off quickly to gather the supplies needed to clean up the little Nephilim.</p><p>Akriel follows after them as they turn, the Nephilim curled into his father’s side, one hand clutching at the back of his shirt, and the other at the front. “Raph, what happened?”</p><p>The Archangel shakes his head, squeezing the boy closer to his side. “Not now, Ak, later.”</p><p>He nods, parting from their side to push the next bed up against his Archangel’s, it was going to be a trying task for his workaholic Archangel, but he was under strict orders from the Oldest to take it easy and rest as much as he can. Hopefully, with having a distraught and upset Nephilim to care for, he would do as he was told, it’s wrong to think that, but it’s all they have to work with.</p><p>Oren returns shortly after with the tub, Constantine behind him with the rest of the necessary items one needed when being scrubbed clean, Akriel takes the task of pulling the dividers around to give father and son a sense of privacy. His Captain decidedly decides to make himself scarce for a while, as he sets the tub down, and makes his leave. Constantine sets his cargo down next to the tub and the towel on the edge of the Archangel’s bed.</p><p>Raphael nods in appreciation, extracting the boy from his side gently, stroking his cheek when he whines softly. “Let’s get you undressed, little one, and into the bath.”</p><p>Isa nods mutely, standing there limply as he’s slowly disrobed, his dirty clothes tossed aside, and Akriel takes a seat in the chair near the bed, sitting there, watching his Archangel guide the numb Nephilim into the bath. He’s blanked out, lost within himself, staring straight ahead as his father pours water over his head to begin with his curls. It’s concerning, Isa’s been through a lot, a lot of trials and pain, he’s witnessed a lot of cruelty and tragedy, and he always pulled through, jumping right back on the saddle, bouncing back to his usual self, but the pain and tragedy had never been directly, never by his own hands, to someone he loved unconditionally, and this time he wasn’t pulling through, he wasn’t jumping back on the saddle, he wasn’t bouncing back, he was the picture of a broken child.</p><p>All of the pain and cruelty and tragedy he’d been through, that he bottled up and pushed to the back of his mind, had finally spilled over, having to torture his own father was the catalyst for the disaster waiting to happen.</p><p>He looks up, torn from his thoughts, as rain starts pelting on the roof above them, and he looks down to his Archangel and his son, trying to figure out which one of them was causing it. It’s not the bathwater that makes the Nephilim’s cheeks glisten, it’s the tears, that he’s managed to find from <em>somewhere</em>. He doesn’t quiver, his shoulders don’t move, he makes no noise, as tears trail down his cheeks, too many overwhelmingly strong emotions hitting him all at once, and he knows, it’s him causing the rain, the clouds are crying with him. His hands shake as he raises them from the water, curling them over his face, Akriel can’t feel his emotions, he’s not an empath, he’s not Ephraim, but he knows what he’s feeling, it’s written clear as day on his face.</p><p>He feels guilty, overwhelmingly so, it’s eat him from the inside out.</p><p>He knows the memories of having to yank the flight feathers from his father’s wing, hearing his soft cries of pain that he couldn’t hold back any longer, haunts him, replaying over and over again in his mind.</p><p>Thunder rumbles over heard, and he <em>knows</em> that’s his Archangel, Isa <em>loves</em> thunderstorms, he’s trying to comfort his son.</p><p>Isa inhales deeply, and leans back, sinking under the water in his tub, and they watch him, as he opens his eyes, shocking blue dimmed, they watch him as he stares up at the ceiling. Akriel jumps forward when the Nephilim exhales, and inhales water, helping his Archangel lift him above the water, patting his back as the boy coughs and chokes on water, they hold him up, one hand pressed to his tense back, the other curled around his upper arm, as he raises his hands, curling his fingers around the edges of the tub tightly, his knuckles pale from the intensity of the grip, and he folds over, quivering slightly from the pressure of the tension that fills him, in pain but refusing to let it out, as though he’s fighting to push all of the pain and cruelty and tragedy back into that bottle and seal it away once more, but struggling from the vastness of it.</p><p>The Virtue doesn’t struggle against it when his Archangel curls his hand over the boy’s nose and mouth and pushes him back underwater, holding him there for a minute, two minutes, three minutes, four minutes, five—fingers curl around his wrist tightly, and he pulls the teenager back up.</p><p>Isa coughs and spits out water, looking around when his dad’s hand curls around the side of his face, and turns his head, staring into his warm, concerned green eyes. “Isa, don’t blank out on us, don’t leave us, don’t disappear, we need you here with us, <em>I</em> need you here with me.” He reaches up, curling his fingers around his dad’s arm, staring at him mutely as fingers curl under his chin firmly. “I know you’re upset; I know you’re hurting; I know you’re so overwhelmed right now; it feels as though everything’s burying you alive, that years and years of negative emotion is finally consuming you, I <em>know</em>.” Those fingers squeeze firmly for a moment. “But, so help my God, if you leave me…..You don’t have to suffer through this alone, little one, you don’t have to shut down, you’ve got so many people here to guide you through it, you just have to let them.”</p><p>The Nephilim stares at him for a long moment, a long silence filled moment, studying his face, his eyes, looking for something, what he’s looking for, he doesn’t know, but he waits for him to respond, anything, he waits for him to do anything. Anything at all. He sees Akriel rub his back lightly from the corner of his eye, Isa had always been closest to his mental specialist, he knew that they talked, shared secrets, well, that Isa shared secrets, knowing that the mental specialist would keep them to himself. Sometimes he was under the impression that he knew his son a tad bit better then he did, there was no blame to be placed, he knows his son keeps things from him, things from the time he hadn’t been a very good parent, and he only knew that because he’d caught a glance of them once, Isa over his older brother’s knee while Akriel tanned his hide, he had been saying something, but he himself hadn’t been close enough to hear it. And, it was no secret just how much Akriel loved Isa in return, always finding a way to make sure he was in good spirits, to make him laugh, and more times the not, he’d merely lift the boy up above his head and bury his face into his belly, until the boy’s squealing laughter fell silent and his desperate pushing at his shoulders grew weaker and weaker.</p><p>Isa’s voice cracks when he finally speaks. “I’m sorry, daddy.”</p><p>“Oh, my little one,” Raphael moves his fingers back around to curl his hand around the side of his head, leaning forward to press his lips to the side of the boy’s temple. “You have nothing to apologize for.” He rubs his thumb over his cheek bone. “Let’s get you out of this bath and into some clean clothes.”</p><p>The Nephilim nods, allowing them to lift him to his feet, Akriel lets go of his other arm as he’s guided over the edge of the tub and given the towel to dry himself off, when he’s dressed from the waist down, he pulls the dividers back, returning them to the vast room around them. Isa waits for his dad to dry his curls with his towel before slipping his pajama top on and sinking into his chest, just to rest there, for those arms to curl around him, and he sighs softly before inhaling deeply, taking in the scent, the smell of ozone and peppermint and something sweet, like flowers, and he closes his eyes for a moment.</p><p>Fingers scratch at the back of his head. “Let’s get into bed, little one.”</p><p>The Nephilim nods mutely, begrudgingly removing himself from his dad’s arms, watching from the corner of his eye as Akriel disappears with the tub, and looks up at his dad again. “Is Ak going to come back?”</p><p>Raphael smiles down at his boy, rubbing a finger over his nose. “Of course, he will.” He guides the boy around to the beds, and urges him forward, to climb in, preferably under the covers, and Isa follows as he’s silently told to, crawling up onto the conjoined beds, settling in the one on the left, climbing under the blankets as he knew was desired of him, and looks up to make sure he follows. “Settle down, little one.”</p><p>Isa watches his dad slide in next to him, arch his back as he stretches his wings, and turns towards him, pulling him into his chest as he turns to rest on his side, throwing his right wing over him. His eyes water at the warmth and emerald feathers that brush over his cheek, and blinks in surprise when his dad licks his nose playfully, like he himself often does to him. “No tears, little one, no more, everything’s alright now.”</p><p>He smiles ducking in under his dad’s chin, reaching up to curl his fingers in his top, and stiffens slightly when an arm curls around him from behind, a beard rubs over the back of his neck as they press their lips against the skin. “Get some rest, baby brother, we’re not going anywhere.”</p>
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